The Sophomore Year
by Demand Truth
Summary: After meeting at boarding school, Alfred and Arthur became unlikely friends and then lovers. Now, they'll face their sophomore year in America and all the challenges that come with being young, famous, and madly in love. Sequel to Invitational Year.
1. Summer Vacation

_**The Sophomore Year**_

Chapter One: Summer Vacation

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><p><strong>AJHero: <strong>U there?

_**FictionAddiction**_**_is idle._**

**AJHero: **Artie!1! Come on! We said we'd chat tonight.

**AJHero: **Not cool, man. You know I only get computer acces...acsess? How the heck do you spell that? Whatevs. I only get accesss for a few hours at camp and your wasting it!

_**FictionAddiction has signed on.**_

**FictionAddiction:** I don't think this chatting on the internet business is going to work out.

**AJHero: **Your here! :) I missed you, babe!

**FictionAddiction: **It's _you're—_not your, and it's _you—_not 'U'.

**AJHero: **Huh? :_0

**FictionAddiction: **What are you doing now? What's with the colon/underscore/zero thing?

**AJHero**: What? You mean my crying face? I'm crying cuz your talking grammar crap instead of saying that you miss me.

**FictionAddiction: **Oh. I see it as a face now. That's ridiculous. For the last time, Alfred, it's _you're_. I can't focus on a conversation if you're going to abuse the English language.

**AJHero: **O_O;

**FictionAddiction: **I refuse to communicate with you in emoticons. I will acknowledge your feelings when you use actual words.

**AJHero: **:O-8

**FictionAddiction: **...that one doesn't even look like a face.

**AJHero: **What? You don't recognize you're face giving my penis a blowjob? XD

**FictionAddiction: **In that instance, it would be _your_.

**AJHero: **If I use good grammar, can we internet sex each other?

_**FictionAddiction has signed off. **_

**AJHero: **Arthur?

**AJHero: **:O-9 roflao now I only have one ball.

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><p><em><strong>FictionAddiction has signed on.<strong>_

_**AJHero has signed on. **_

**FictionAddiction: **Are you done with your stupid camp yet? I miss you. Come back to England. I'm not liking all these rumors I'm hearing, either. Some pictures hit our tabloids over here, and while I'm pretty sure it's just a look-alike, I'm still a little concerned.

**AJHero: **I can't, babe. :( I miss you 2. I really miss your sexy ass and that thing you do with your tongue.

**FictionAddiction: **Alfred, why are you so lewd all the sudden? I don't like it. You sound like Francis...who is visiting and driving me insane, by the way.

**AJHero: **But baaabbbbe! I'm just really really really horny, and your super far away and it's communal showers so I can't ya know and I think my balls are turning blue.

**FictionAddiction: **You can't hear it, but I'm playing you the world's smallest violin.

**AJHero: **Why'd you buy a really tiny violin? I though you played piano?

**FictionAddiction**: _Thought – _not though. Why can't we talk on the phone again? I hate chatting almost as much as I hate computers.

**AJHero**: No phones allowed at camp. :( I couldn't bring junk food either. I'm starving and I have blue balls. It's bad honey. I neeeeeed you...to bring me McDonalds.

**FictionAddiction: **You can either have sex with me, or McDonalds. Your choice.

**AJHero: **Do I get to top?

**FictionAddiction: **Sure.

**AJHero: **McDonalds

_**FictionAddiction has signed off. **_

* * *

><p>Alfred ignored greeting his mother in favor of attacking the backpack she'd brought for him—desperately searching for his precious phone.<p>

"Alfred, aren't you going to even say hello to me?" Helen requested. Her tall son, no longer gangly by any stretch of the imagination, mumbled his reply without even glancing at her.

"Yeah, hi mom, love you, too. Camp was fun. Had a blast. I'm starving and I want the new Madden game for my birthday," Alfred rambled as he punched the speed dial for Arthur and waited for the ringing to end. Helen rolled her eyes and not-so-carefully reversed her Hummer out of the too-small space.

"Alfred, I am a mother—not a vending machine. I'm glad you had fun at camp. You toned up nicely, and the tan looks good, but from now on you really need to start using sunblock. A quality lotion can give you an imitation tan that looks—"

"Yeah, ah-huh. Wear lotion. Got it. Jus' give me one sec, Helen—I gotta call Arthur," Alfred said, brushing off her comments with complete dismissal. Helen shot him an mildly reproachful glare (since when did he call her Helen?) and wondered when her sweet, wide-eyed little boy had turned into a teenager. She wanted to blame boarding school, but if she was truly honest, a summer full of pool parties with young celebrities and football camp with spoiled rich kids (both of which she'd been responsible for coordinating) seemed to be the cause behind Alfred's worsening attitude. Not to mention, her own attitude had been ten times worse as a teenager, so she couldn't exactly criticize him for it. She certainly wasn't going to be that mother that demanded her child call her 'mom'. She was secure enough as a mother to use first names with her child...wasn't she? Of course she was.

The partying, the clubs, and the costly football camp were only meant to distract Alfred from missing the British kid so much, and from driving her insane with his constant complaints of boredom. Besides, she'd been helping him get his modeling career started. It wasn't good enough to get one lucky photo break—Alfred needed to be noticed, and a little drama was guaranteed to catch some attention.

"Arthur? Arthur! It's me! I'm free from football camp!" her son yelped excitedly. She could just barely hear the royal's much sleepier (and more irritable) tone on the other end, but she couldn't make out his exact words. Alfred's end of the conversation, however, was telling enough.

"Oh, well I'm sorry. I was just excited to talk since...okay. I'll let you go back to sleep. I love you," Alfred said. He blushed at that part, and mumbled it quickly as if she wouldn't hear him. Helen waited for him to hang up to get a word in edge-wise, but the phone was almost instantly back up to his ear.

"Mattie! Hey, bro! I just got sprung from camp—it was total torture! I couldn't have my phone, no junk food, and...yeah, I just called him. I know he's pissed, but...well, I couldn't help it!" Alfred listened with an annoyed expression to whatever his soft-spoken Canadian friend was saying, but finally could restrain himself no longer and cut in with, "Mattie, you can't honestly read the fucking—"

"Alfred!" Helen snapped automatically. With a look of surprise (and mild irritation), Alfred glanced at her.

"What? You cuss all the time," Alfred reminded.

"Well, that may be so, but _you've_ never—"

"_Anyways_, so yeah, you can't read the _fucking_ tabloids and believe all that stupid shit. I mean, come on, Mattie! Do you _really_ think I'd get Kelly Clover pregnant? She's, like, a Disney star, and I'm, like, totally gay," Alfred glanced at her as if to say, _'Can you believe this?' _

"Mattie...Mattie...seriously, dude. Kelly Clover was at, like, _one_ of my parties, and I barely even talked to her. She was totally trashed anyway. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if she _was_ knocked up, but...what do you mean I sound 'different'? I don't sound different. Ha! Maybe I just sound more manly now. My voice _totally_ dropped!"

With a tight, annoyed frown, Helen realized she agreed with Matthew. Her son was beginning to sound different...and it really didn't suit him at all.

She'd tried to make more time for Alfred this summer. Now that they had modeling in common, and since he'd finally grown out of his awkward phase, she'd tried connecting with him as best she knew how. Every other night there had been some sort of party or social function, and she'd taken Alfred on her arm to all of them. She'd bought him an entire new wardrobe, the braces had been removed, and in just a short month and a half, Helen had essentially become Alfred's new manager for the never ending offers of guest appearances, photo shoots, and interview requests. While Alfred had been in Europe, he'd become an American teen heart-throb. She'd been all too glad to send him off to football camp for the past week, as she'd discovered she wasn't as young as she used to be, and political life ran at a much slower pace than the fashion world did.

Mostly, though, she'd just needed a break from the monster she'd created. Naturally, Dick had been totally absorbed in his work and didn't give a damn about her troubles with Alfred—no big shocker, there.

Finally, Alfred concluded his conversation with his old friend on a rude note and snapped off his phone.

"Whatever. It's not like I was excited to talk to them anyway," Alfred bluffed, scowling at the window. Helen sighed softly.

"Alfred...I've been thinking about your birthday party. What if we scaled it back some? Wouldn't you like to just fly in your friends from last year and just spend some time...I don't know. Doing whatever gay kids with no social lives do?"

Alfred shot her a venomous glare.

"Okay, that came out wrong. I just meant...don't you want to spend some time with your _real_ friends? Just being yourself?" Helen asked. Alfred, clueless Alfred, just rolled his baby blues at her.

"I _am_ being myself. Last time I checked, my name's still Alfred Jones," he retorted. Helen frowned thinly.

"The sarcasm doesn't suit you, Alfred."

"I thought you hated my friends?" Alfred shot back, his arms crossed firmly over his muscular chest. He was as tall as she was now, and over the course of the summer, he'd made the final transition from looking like a pre-teen to looking like a young man. It was unsettling how fast he'd seemed to change in just a year, but the baby pout was still being put to good effect.

"I don't _hate_ your friends. Don't be so dramatic, Alfred. I'm merely saying that you've done an awful lot of work lately—schmoozing Hollywood types and all that, and it might be good for you to get back in touch with...well...Alfred."

Helen realized mid-spiel that Alfred had already tuned her out and was furiously texting god-only-knows-who with thumbs moving at near light speed. She lightly shook her head.

"Oh, so _that's_ what he's pissed about. Was I on a new tabloid this past week? Ashley says they got a picture of me and Patrick Donovan looking like a couple. Think they altered it? I don't really remember that party. I was pretty trashed," Alfred mused, as he used his phone to scroll through an internet search of his name to see what headlines popped up.

"I didn't let you get into any compromising positions," Helen said in an unnaturally subdued tone of voice. Her own worry was obvious, though.

"Whatever. You were tipsy, too. You kept telling the pool boy to strip. You were _so_ embarrassing!" Alfred said, laughing obnoxiously at her failings as a parent and as a manager.

"I was _not_ tipsy. I just had a few drinks, and it's been awhile since I drank socially. You have to look loose at those things—they aren't job interviews. Photographers are looking for personality, not just a pretty face," she justified. Alfred snorted.

"Yeah, but they weren't looking at _you_. I'm the 'sexiest person to live in the white house.' That's a quote from my biggest fan club. Ha! Check it! They signed on, like, 800 new members while I was in football camp. Just wait till the pictures of me looking all awesome in the games with pro players hit the net! You don't even have a fan club anymore—just a facebook group of guys that want to see you dance topless around an American flag."

"_Alfred!_"

"What? It's true."

"That's it. Give me that," she snapped. Alfred let out a howl of protest when his mother began rifling through his phone, swerving all over the road as she did so.

"Helen! Give it baaaack!" Alfred whined. Helen found Arthur's number and pressed dial. The royal answered, already lecturing.

"_As I already explained, it's _much_ later here, and quite frankly, after all the drivel I've seen on magazines lately—"_

"Arthur? It's me, Helen Jones. I need you to get on a flight as soon as possible."

"_What's wrong? Has something happened to Alfred?"_ the British boy sounded instantly terrified, and Helen was glad to hear it—Arthur was Alfred's true friend above all else. He'd sort him out, if there was still hope to undo the damage she'd done in just a short month and a half.

"Yes, you could say that. He needs a real friend right now, so I want you to come to visit as soon as possible. Can that be arranged?" she asked briskly. From the passenger side, Alfred was staring at her in semi-hopeful confusion.

"Is he coming?" Alfred asked.

"_Alright, I'll be on the first flight in the morning. Are you _sure_ he's fine physically? No injuries at football camp?" _

"You didn't get injured at football camp, did you?" Helen asked, peeping around the phone at Alfred. Her son shook his head in denial.

"No, he's not hurt—just rapidly turning into me. Get here soon."

"_What?"_ was the last thing Helen heard before clicking off the phone and passing it back to Alfred.

"What's going on?" Alfred asked.

"Your friends are right, Alfred. You _have_ changed a lot this summer, and I know it's because of my influence...and it wasn't a good one. I've always thought I wanted a son like this, but now I realize that snobby, spoiled, disrespectful kids are annoying little shits. If I let this go much further, you really _will_ get some girl knocked up. Maybe you'll be ready for the fashion world next summer, but you're not ready yet. Don't bother arguing. I've made up my mind. Oh, and no more cussing. And don't call me Helen—I'm your mother, not your manager."

Her son (who had been truly nightmarish since coming home without Arthur) flashed her the tiniest of smiles when she expected a massive argument.

"Yeah, yeah, Mom...whatever you say," he replied back, playing a bit with his phone. Helen was thrown-off by the sudden reappearance of the Alfred she remembered (and loved).

"I don't understand you at _all_," she finally admitted. "One minute, you're a total jerk and the next you're back to your normal, sweet self. Care to enlighten me? Have you developed schizophrenia in the past month?"

Alfred blushed a little, rolled his eyes, and began playing a game on his phone.

"Have I really been a jerk?" he asked. He almost sounded sheepish. Helen relaxed ever-so-slightly.

"Just a little...not as bad as when I was a teenager. God, I don't know _how_ your grandparents put up with me."

"I did miss you and dad at football camp," Alfred said. Helen was surprised at her own reply.

"I missed you, too. Not bratty teenage Alfred—but the old Alfred. I missed you last year, too. You're not going to believe this, but I even cuddled up with that dumb cat of yours a few times."

"It's nice we can just talk like this sometimes, right Mom?"

"It's nice you haven't ignored me to text someone for nearly five minutes," Helen replied. Alfred was giving her his biggest, sweetest grin. She finally began to suspect something was up. She flashed back to her own teenager days and it hit her like a ton of bricks. She scowled.

"Alright...what is it you want?"

"A Camaro."

"Ha! I thought you wanted a stupid football game for your Z Box?"

"It's an _X-_box mom, geez. And come on! I'm going to be 16 in a week! How am I supposed to get to parties and stuff and have a _real_ life if I don't have a ride? You hated when I just stayed at home playing card games and reading comics all the time. Now that I'm hot I wanna go do cool stuff! _Please_ give me a car? Pretty pretty please? I'll leave you alone for the rest of summer!"

"I'll discuss it with your father."

"But mooooooommmmm! Pleeeeease! With a cherry on top?"

Helen found herself accelerating so as to get home faster. She didn't think it was possible, but football camp had made Alfred even worse. Now his ego was bigger, his sense of self-importance was massive, and he'd finally realized that he was young, good-looking, and filthy rich. Helen mentally groaned when she realized she still would have Alfred in her hair for another month and a half before she could send him off to the dorms.

She was starting to feel like the good influence of Arthur Kirkland on her son was her last hope, and she couldn't believe it had only taken a month and a half of dealing with the son she'd _thought_ she always desired before she wanted to trade the egotistical jerk back in for the one she'd never really appreciated.

* * *

><p>Matthew sighed forlornly as he watched another boring client leave his mother's office. Despite the fact that his parents made good money and were quite prominent in both business and politics, they had grown up with middle-class values and didn't spend money frivolously. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for Matthew, this meant they thought it was important that he work during the summers and build up his resume. For the first half of summer, he'd been stuck filing papers, fetching lunches, and answering phones. One of the secretaries at his mother's office was out on maternity leave, and Matthew was picking up the slack.<p>

Mostly, though, he just wrote stories, sent text messages to Francis, Gilbert, and Alfred, and shopped online. Spending so much time surfing the internet, however, allowed him to watch the strange reception Alfred received at home unfold. While still in England, he'd been aware that media hype for his best friend was steadily growing in a more positive direction. Alfred and Arthur's appearance on the talk show had seemingly caught the whole world's attention, and the calendars were everywhere. His mother had even proudly hung one in the staff room, and Matthew still blushed daily upon seeing it there.

As for Matthew, it had been strange to return home as the best friend of someone famous. All the kids in his neighborhood that had once ignored him now clamored to invite him over or hang out with him. It was so transparent what they really wanted—a connection to either Alfred or Arthur—so Matthew tended to decline almost all the invitations that came his way. As Francis had predicted, he'd been a home-body all summer, simply watching television, reading the tabloids about Alfred, and calling his best friend when possible to lecture him or ask for gossip.

He was desperately hoping that Francis would make good on his claim and fly to Canada for a rescue, but he knew that had been mostly wishful thinking. Francis' parents were in the middle of a drawn-out custody battle over him, and Francis was temporarily staying with Arthur until the issue was resolved. Neither of his parents had wished for him to be involved in the fighting and the court hearings, but of course, it affected Francis all the same. Sometimes, he seemed desperate to talk to Matthew for hours at a time, much like he had at Christmas when he'd first learned of the divorce. At other times, he was in a foul mood and vented it on Matthew. He'd end conversations abruptly, ignore Matthew's messages, and hint that he was spending time with other people.

Between Francis' mood swings and Alfred's new love for partying and rubbing elbows with celebrities, Matthew was left feeling (once again) rather forgotten about and unappreciated. He wanted to be supportive of Francis, but it was difficult to know what to say. His parents had always been happy and stable. His life, though boring, had been incredibly normal. Going to World Academy had been the only exciting thing that had ever happened to him, and so sometimes he simply didn't know what to say to Francis when he talked about the trials of constantly traveling and his problems at home. Being so far away from each other only made this disconnect feel even worse.

For the first time yesterday, Matthew had avoided one of Francis' calls. He'd felt guilty about it, but his feelings were still hurt from the last time they'd talked. Francis had asked for his opinion, and then lambasted him for it—criticizing him as being sheltered and naive when he hadn't liked what Matthew said.

If he was honest, his relationships with his friends had all been pretty terrible over the summer. Matthew continued to text Gilbert, but the skater seemed to have no interest in him anymore. His replies were random, always brief, and sometimes he didn't even answer Matthew's initial question—he just replied with something dirty and vulgar.

Matthew filed away another stack of papers and checked his phone for the millionth time. No texts. No e-mails. Absolutely nothing.

Just then, however, as if summoned by his own desperation, his phone buzzed and he was surprised to see an e-mail from World Academy. It was not a mass-generated e-mail, but rather it was specifically addressed to him. For a second, he read the first few paragraphs in a state of confusion until it dawned on him. Before school ended, home room teachers had passed out a form asking if the students wished to be involved in a new penpal program, designed to help scholarship students that would be coming the next year as part of an outreach program meet some friends before arriving at campus. Thinking it would be fun (even while most of his classmates scoffed at the idea of being penpals to poor kids and tossed the papers) Matthew had filled out the form and returned it.

Included in the e-mail was the contact information for a boy named Alex Lopez. No other information was given. That was tricky—Alex was one of those names that could either be for a girl or for a guy. Instantly, some of Matthew's old insecurities popped up. There was no point in messaging the mysterious Alex. Matthew wasn't interesting enough for his own friends to keep in touch over the summer—why would a total stranger want to talk with him?

He dismissed the idea and returned to doing busy work until he was completely bored out of his scull. He texted Alfred (it was the third text he'd sent that week, all of which had gone unanswered), played roughly six games of solitaire, and then started thinking about how nervous he'd been before leaving for World Academy. What if Alex felt the same way? He'd been convinced he wouldn't make any friends and that he'd continue to be overlooked. When they'd described the penpal program, Matthew had thought he would have loved to come to school knowing just one person—even if they weren't good friends or anything, it would have comforting to know that out of all the strangers, even just one person was someone he'd talked to before.

He was being down on himself (it always annoyed Francis when he did that) and he really should think more about the feelings of poor Alex. Feeling strangely nervous, Matthew opened a blank e-mail and began to type.

_Hi Alex, _

_My name's Matthew. I guess I'm your World Academy penpal. I don't really know what to say. I'm afraid I'm not much of a talker. I live in Canada. I'll be a sophomore next year. So far my summer has been totally boring. What about yours?_

_Matthew_

There. That was normal sounding enough. Maybe it was _too_ normal sounding? Matthew re-read it and convinced himself he sounded so boring that there was no way Alex would reply. With a sigh, Matthew sent the e-mail anyway. If Alex was desperate enough for a friend, Matthew had made the first step. He didn't have to feel guilty about not following through with the program—

His phone was ringing. It was Alex's number.

Matthew glanced nervously around the office. It was totally empty. Everyone was out for lunch and likely wouldn't be back for another hour or so. Blushing a little, Matthew awkwardly accepted the call.

"Um...hello?"

"_Hey! I just got your e-mail. I'm Alex," _the mystery penpal said with bright energy. Matthew found himself smiling. How someone managed to sound so friendly and warm in just a simple greeting floored him.

"You read my e-mail pretty fast, Alex," Matthew replied in his soft-spoken way.

"_Yeah, heh, but I'm so bored. You'd think it'd be impossible to be bored in Miami, but even I get tired of laying around at the beach all day and eating ice cream!" _Alex replied in a thick, Spanish sounding accent. Matthew didn't know much about Florida, even though he was furiously trying to remember. All that came to mind was Disney World.

"Err, so are you American?" Matthew asked.

"_Oh, hell no! I'm Cuban, born and raised. But it's been a weird year, for sure. My dad passed away last year so I came to live with my uncle in Miami. I'd barely been here a year before I got this offer to come to World Academy on scholarship. Crazy, huh?" _Alex babbled. Matthew blinked trying to process Alex's life history in just a few seconds.

"Wow...that is pretty crazy," Matthew muttered.

"_What about you, socio? What's your story?" _Alex asked. Matthew spun slightly in his office chair, glancing around the boring, yet tastefully decorated office. What did he possibly say about his life? I'm a shy, gay kid from Canada who spent most of my childhood invisible, only to go to World Academy and become best friends with other gay kids who just happened to be super rich, famous and influential? As boring as his life seemed, it was weird to try and describe it.

"Oh...um...not much to tell. My parents are pretty well off, but nothing crazy. I'm not really sure why I was invited to World Academy, but I make pretty good grades, I guess. I'm just spending the summer working at my mom's office," Matthew said. He was surprised at how closely Alex seemed to be listening to him speak. Maybe he was just accustomed to Alfred always talking over him in a rush to say whatever had popped into his head, or Francis dismissing him before he even got an idea verbalized.

"_Cool, man. I've always worked my ass off—this is the first summer I've just been a lazy bum. Gained so much weight since I got to the states! It's a little embarrassing, but food in Miami is amazing, and it's, like, everywhere. What kind of food do you like?" _Alex asked. Matthew smiled a bit. It was strange for someone to be so interested in getting to know him.

"I really like sweets—especially maple syrup on just about anything. Have you ever tried maple syrup on ice cream?" Matthew asked, waiting for the squawk of protest that such a comment would have earned from Alfred.

"_Canadian ice-cream, huh? I'm gonna try it today, socio, just for you!" _Alex said brightly, laughing in good humor. Matthew was trying to picture how the other teen might look, as if he were a character in one of his stories. He'd definitely have a big, friendly smile, and probably a great tan. He'd be a little husky, like Ivan, but not intimidating. Matthew decided he liked Alex, and he was glad he'd e-mailed him.

"Err, Alex, what does _socio_ mean? Am I saying it right?" Matthew asked. His new Cuban friend laughed.

"_Oh, that's Cuban slang—in English I guess you'd say buddy? Maybe pal?"_ Alex suggested.

"That's neat," Matthew replied with a small smile. "It'd be cool if we could be friends. I'm kinda shy, so I don't really make friends that easily," Matthew confessed. Alex snorted in disbelief.

"_Don't believe it—you sound hella nice, socio! I bet you have tons of friends. You think you'll even have time to hang out with me when we get to school?" _Alex asked jokingly. Matthew fiddled with a pen on the desk in front of him and wondered why the hell he was still blushing. Maybe it was just the fact that he was talking to a complete stranger on the phone. Though, he was rapidly thinking of Alex as someone he'd always known. His friendly way of talking set him at ease.

"We'll have Canadian ice-cream together," Matthew joked a little nervously.

"_For sure, socio. So are you into hockey? That's Canada's national sport, yeah?" _Alex asked casually. It was then Matthew realized. Over the phone, Alex had no idea what he looked like. He didn't see his slender form, his carefully styled hair, and his meticulously chosen clothing. He didn't see how he gestured with his hands too much, or how fond he was of a stuffed-bear backpack. He didn't have any of the clues that led other people to assume he was gay, and so for the first time in his life, Matthew was talking to another boy as if he was just another one of the guys.

Thinking fast, he quickly did an internet search for hockey and rambled for a few moments about whatever he was reading in the article.

"But, yeah, you probably don't watch much hockey, huh? What sports do you like?"

"_I'm all about baseball, socio. It's pretty big in Cuba. American baseball sucks! I'm kinda nervous about moving to D.C. Miami's okay, but I'm pretty homesick for Cuba, ya know?" _Alex asked. Matthew could relate to homesickness. He'd been pretty homesick when he'd first left for World Academy.

"It was pretty hard for me to go to England last year, but it's really not so bad. Once you get involved and meet people, the year really flies by," Matthew reassured. Alex laughed, a warm, genuine belly laugh. Matthew liked that about him, too.

"_Well, now I've got one friend at least. We can be homesick together, huh?"_

"Sure," Matthew agreed. Alex jumped right back in, never allowing an awkward pause.

"_So you like hockey, you say you're shy, and you're from Canada. What else do you like, socio?" _Alex asked, in such a way that Matthew could tell he sincerely wanted to know. Pretty soon, Matthew was talking about the comics he made with Alfred (though he purposefully didn't mention Alfred's name) and some of the novels he'd read last year in book club. With another belly laugh of delight, Alex began listing authors Matthew had never heard of, but now desperately wanted to read.

He was shocked to realize that he'd spent nearly an hour and a half talking to Alex about everything from books to travel to school before his mother returned from lunch and gave him a reproving stare for being on his phone. He made his apologies to Alex and hung up, promising to call again soon, and wondering with an almost burning curiosity what Alex had thought about him.

* * *

><p>Arthur yawned as he stepped off the plane. It was not his first trip to America, but it was the first in which he'd be staying for such a long period of time. Not seeing the point in making two trans-Atlantic flights within the space of a month, he decided to simply stay with Alfred until school began. His mother had invited him, after all, and it seemed like Alfred was making some rather strange choices in his absence. Having seen too many fake photos of himself to count over the years, Arthur wasn't going to assume all the tabloids were 100% accurate, but he <em>did<em> want to get to the bottom of it all. Tired as he was, he was glad he'd be seeing his boyfriend face to face soon.

Exiting the terminal was a quiet affair. His body guard stuck close by him, and soon a small team of American CIA agents materialized around him. He'd long ago learned to sport shades and a hat when traveling in the states, as the media was so much more aggressive there. Despite knowing it would only fuel the gossip mill, he'd still hoped Alfred would somehow meet him at the airport.

It was not to be, however. Without anyone noticing his identity, he was smoothly placed in a plain black car and driven to the most famous icon of Washington D.C. The White House was set quite far back from the main road, and the security checks they passed through seemed endless. Finally, he slid out of the car with his carry-on at the South Portico, expecting to be tackled off his feet, only to see Helen walking briskly towards him instead. She looked strangely relieved.

"Arthur, it's so good to see you again," she said. Arthur raised a formidable brow at her sudden sweetness, but his good breeding kicked in.

"It's good to see you, as well, Mrs. Jones. Where's Alfred?" he asked. The gorgeous blonde frowned slightly.

"He's resting. He had some friends over last night and they were up quite late. Come inside—I'll see you to your room. I've put you in the Queen's Room."

Arthur inclined his head slightly at the honor. It was a room of the White House typically reserved for royalty, and it showed respect towards his position that Helen hadn't assumed he'd just crash on Alfred's floor in a sleeping bag or something. Still, sometimes it was strange to realize he was a British royal dating the son of the American President. If he thought about it too much, it started to feel surreal.

_'It's just been the long separation from Alfred. Once I see him, all this fame and protocol will go back to being just an afterthought,'_ Arthur thought to himself as he was escorted inside.

"Was your flight comfortable?" Helen asked. Arthur nodded.

"As comfortable as such things can be," he replied.

"I am sorry I called you so abruptly, but Alfred has been acting strangely since he returned home. I admit, I either caused it, or at the very least encouraged it, but now I'm afraid it's getting a bit out of hand."

"I don't quite follow you," Arthur replied. He barely took in the lavish home as Helen led him first through a receiving room and then towards a plushly carpeted staircase.

"I've been allowing—_encouraging—_Alfred to...be more social. We had a considerable number of parties at the White House these past few weeks, and I'm worried the crowd he's fallen in with have given him somewhat of a big head. Not to mention, he's had the non-stop attention of the entire nation since returning home."

He remembered how silly Alfred had gotten when the girls began to notice him at school—reveling in the attention and signing autographs. Alfred had seen no harm in his behavior then, so what Helen was saying didn't surprise Arthur. Despite claiming his ambitions had changed once he met Arthur, Alfred still had the desire to be popular and attractive. What _did_ surprise Arthur, however, was Helen's accommodating attitude. When they'd last met, she'd seemed determined to replace Arthur's role in Alfred's life with either Matthew or Francis.

"I'm surprised you called me," Arthur settled on saying. "Was Matthew unavailable?" he asked. She glanced at Arthur sharply, and through her aura of worry, Arthur saw a flash of the Helen Jones he recognized.

"I won't beat around the bush. You're not the person I would have chosen for my son—but when given the opportunity to choose his company, I can't ignore the fact that my choices haven't benefited him. Alfred has always been...special. I worry that all this attention has gone to his head. I've never been a good role model for Alfred, but I'm admitting that you have been. It's as much of an apology as you'll get from me," she said briskly. Arthur was struggling to keep up with her as she power-walked down the hallway.

Maybe it was the effect of being so far from home, in this strange other-part of Alfred's life, but Arthur felt like his worst fears from the previous May had come true. The summer back home had changed Alfred, short as it had been. He didn't know what to expect when he saw him now.

"His room is down this hallway," Helen gestured. Arthur nodded, some of his nervousness showing in the way he clenched his fist around his bag, but he took off down the hall. It was nearly ten in the morning—why was Alfred still sleeping?

Arthur knocked gently but received no reply. He glanced back towards where Helen had stood, but she had vanished, leaving the boys to reunite alone. Reminding himself that it was Alfred—_his_ Alfred—on the other side of the door, he opened it quietly and poked his head inside.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I got bored fixing old errors and wanted to write a new chapter. I missed you guys! I hope you missed this story, and will enjoy the second year as much as the first. Like usual, my schedule is crazy, so updates will be random. I've got a potential joint fic going that I'm writing with the awesome Diane Long, but she's made me promise that it won't interfere with updates to this story. As we work on it, I'll keep you guys posted on how it's going.

So yeah! A new chapter! Obviously, I've got a new friend/love interest? lined up for Matthew (and it's CANNON! KIND OF! YAYZ!) and I'm looking forward to playing with that. I'd be really interested to hear your thoughts on Alfred. As you might have guessed, he's starting to change a bit as the media and his relationship with his parents finally starts to get to him. I hope I didn't overdo it, or make the change too drastic for just six weeks apart, but I'm telling myself that teens are a pretty mercurial lot and a _lot_ can change in six weeks.

**I'm sorry! I'm a total idiot. I wrote this chapter in parts and I guess I came back from a break and switched tense without realizing it. The other story I'm working on is first person POV, so I just got muddled. Didn't even realize! I started editing it, but then my stupid-ass computer shut down and I lost all the numerous changes, so I'm just taking that part out and it will start the next chapter. If you read the longer first chapter with weird tense changes in the latter part, I apologize!**


	2. Reunions

_**The Sophomore Year**_

Chapter Two: Reunions

* * *

><p>Arthur's boyfriend was sprawled over his full-size bed in rumpled clothing, looking completely innocent while he slept. Seeing Alfred's face made Arthur smile like a fool, and he stepped into the room more fully. The prince placed his bag down and crept closer to Alfred's bedside, just admiring the peaceful, almost angelic expression. Despite Helen's strange warnings and the changes Arthur had experienced firsthand in Alfred's tone over the past few weeks, Arthur felt relieved to see him again. He felt as if everything would soon go back to normal.<p>

Arthur took a moment to look around the room. It amused him to see Alfred's posters on the walls of super heroes and nerdy things, and his comics stacked neatly in the bookshelf—there were even a few action figures displayed proudly in cases. Arthur's fingers trailed down Superman sheets as he rounded the bed, and he smiled even wider. The room definitely felt like the Alfred he knew. Still, it was an odd contradiction. In the bed lay a young man—almost too tall for the expansive full-size bed, yet on the walls hung the relics of his boyhood. Arthur wondered if Alfred was truly having a difficult time adjusting to the changes he'd faced in his life since returning home. So far, there hadn't been too many awkward adjustments in his own life. He felt as though he'd always known who he was and the sort of man he was trying to be. From the very beginning, however, Arthur realized it was not the same for Alfred.

Arthur moved to sit beside his boyfriend and gently brushed the hair off his forehead. No longer able to resist, he placed a gentle kiss on a high cheekbone, and then another on the curve of Alfred's ear.

"Alfred..." he whispered. The new teen heart-throb let out a little whine, like a mewling kitten. Smiling, Arthur kissed more firmly along his jaw, carding his fingers through Alfred's sun-brightened blond hair.

"A-Arthur?" he asked hesitantly before he fully woke up and his joy exploded. Arthur was wrestled onto the bed beneath Alfred in seconds, while Alfred scattered kisses over the other boy's face and neck as quickly as he could. Laughing, Arthur tried to push him away somewhat.

"Yes, it's me! Easy, Alfred!" The taller boy sat up above Arthur, knees straddling his hips, and beamed at his boyfriend with his sleepy grin.

"You're here! You're _really_ here!"

"I am, and I'm very happy to see you, too...but why does your breath smell like you've been drinking?" Arthur asked suspiciously. Alfred looked a little sheepish.

"My mom said I was old enough to drink this summer. I had a pretty wicked pool party last night—man, I wish you could have been there!"

"Alfred, weren't you the one who followed me around at concerts just a few months ago making sure I only drank pop?" Arthur reminded.

"Well, yeah, but that was out in public, and your dad wasn't cool with you drinking. My parents don't care, and it's only at our own private parties. You'll see—it's totally fun," Alfred said. For a second, Arthur lost the trail of what his boyfriend was saying because the sight of him was simply overwhelming. That look-alike in the tabloids hadn't done him justice. Alfred was stunningly good-looking now. The acne was gone and not even scars remained as evidence it had ever been there. His braces were off and his smile was sparkling white, perfect and straight. His skin was lightly bronzed, his hair was lightened by the sunshine, and his work the previous year and the training at football camp had left him with just the right amount of musculature. He was like a living statue of Adonis.

"Arthur? Earth to Arthur?" he said playfully, leaning over and bumping his nose against Arthur's cheek.

"You...you look good, Alfred," Arthur said distractedly.

"I _know_, right? I think if I started a boy band right now I'd be like, bigger than Bieber!" Alfred boasted, sounding gleefully delighted about his own development.

"If you started a boy band right now, I'd dump you," Arthur replied, dead serious. Alfred laughed and collapsed on top of Arthur, cuddling up against the shorter boy's side and hugging him tightly.

"No you wouldn't," he said. Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled, looping his arm over Alfred's trim waist.

"No, I suppose I wouldn't...all the same, please don't," he said with a small grin.

"Did you miss me?" Alfred asked, baby blues imploring. Arthur gave him a little squeeze.

"Of course. I didn't think I was going to make it 'till your birthday, so I was glad when your mum called," Arthur replied. Alfred's nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Yeah, my mom's been really weird. I don't know what's up with her lately. One minute, she wants me to go to all these parties and make celebrity friends, and the next, she's calling you and saying I'm losing touch with 'Alfred'—whatever that means."

Arthur sighed, understanding Helen perfectly, but at the same time realizing such a concept would go completely over Alfred's head. Frustrating as it was, he'd learned the past year that he couldn't simply _tell_ Alfred about a flaw in his character. Despite his bluster, his boyfriend was incredibly sensitive with a fragile sense of self-confidence. Rather, Alfred had to learn such lessons the hard way, usually by things getting messy.

"Don't worry about it, love. It's been nearly a year since you were home. It's a big adjustment for everyone, but we'll muddle through," Arthur settled on saying.

"I guess. I don't really care what her issues are—I'm just glad you're here," he said. That surprised Arthur a little. He'd never heard Alfred talk about his mother in such a dismissive, almost judgmental way before. Still, for the time being, he wanted to pretend the outside world didn't exist, and he just wanted to enjoy being with my boyfriend again after nearly six weeks apart.

Said boyfriend had clearly remembered _just _how much he missed Arthur, because he was sneakily working on the buttons on Arthur's shirt. His lips nibbled at the royal's skin, and he was mumbling sweet little nothings as Arthur allowed himself to be undressed. They were both aware that Helen could pop back up at any moment, but at the same time, they simply didn't care.

"Mmm...Alfred..." Arthur moaned quietly as Alfred reached Arthur's piercing, his tongue teasing it in a familiar, yet electrifying way. It must have been a new record, but Alfred was already hard and Arthur was well on my way to getting there.

Alfred's fingers deftly undid the button on Arthur's pants and the American grinned (oh _gods_, it was _not_ fair how achingly sexy he was) and wiggled down the bed until Alfred was tugging insistently at Arthur's trousers.

"I missed your old-man boxers," he teased. Arthur scowled, swatting aimlessly in the general vicinity of his boyfriend's head.

"Shut up, tosser," he retorted. Alfred grinned again causing Arthur's brain to momentarily short-circuit, and then he was tugging Arthur's boxers down and going straight for Arthur's erection, licking and suckling on it like an ice-cream cone. Arthur's arms stretched above his head and curled into the slats of the headboard as he lifted his knees and spread his legs a bit. As Arthur prepared for a typical blow job from Alfred (wet and sloppy, but _very_ enthusiastic) he was surprised when Alfred's lips latched neatly around his head, and instead of deep throating, he began to work Arthur over with his hands.

Arthur was alarmed at the same time he was shocked by the pleasurable sensation. Alfred was expertly working his hands in a gentle massaging motion down Arthur's hard prick, constantly changing his hand position so that he was always squeezing, always creating the agonizingly seductive drag of friction. All the while, he neatly and efficiently teased Arthur's sensitive tip, licking and suckling and flicking his tongue in a practiced, easy way.

Arthur's erection raged even as he began to feel uncomfortable and wanted to push Alfred off. Involuntarily though, he bucked against Alfred's mouth and gasped in pleasure as the other teen brought him to a rapid finish (it _had_ been weeks since he'd wanked, after all). Alfred swallowed, clearly satisfied with himself, and then happily climbed up the bed to fetch whatever he used for lubrication when it was just him and his hand.

"Al...Alfred," Arthur panted, watching his boyfriend with worried green eyes as he obliviously uncapped the lube and drizzled it over his fingers.

"Yeah babe?" he asked casually. Arthur shifted uncomfortably, drawing his legs together and tugging a bit at the hem of his shirt, but Alfred would have none of that. He grinned teasingly at the other boy, misinterpreting his emotions and totally failing to read the atmosphere. "Aww, feeling shy?" he asked mockingly.

Arthur felt my cheeks redden in a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. _He _was the more experienced one—he'd taught Alfred everything he knew! At least, he _used_ to be able to say that.

Before Arthur could even think of how to even broach such a topic, Alfred was none-too-gently parting his boyfriend's legs and sliding lube-slick fingers over his entrance. Arthur had come just seconds before, so he was still relaxed and languid, despite his growing upset. The first finger felt big, but it slid in easily; even more-so when Alfred grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under the smaller boy's hips.

"Urghk!" Arthur grunted as he was manhandled. Alfred pushed his knees up to his chest and pinned them there using his shoulders. They'd used pillows before, but Alfred had never before put him so forcefully into a position. Alfred had always looked into Arthur's eyes if they weren't doing it back to front—now he buried his face against Arthur's rib cage and licked and kissed Arthur's sternum as his fingers worked deeper and deeper inside the other boy.

Arthur suspected it was all in his head, but Alfred felt completely different. His hands were bigger than he remembered, more callused and rough. His movements (once fumbling and adorably awkward) now felt smooth and demanding. In the past, even when Arthur had bottomed, he'd always guided Alfred in subtle ways—now he was completely on-edge, with no idea of what to expect from the young man who had so skillfully brought him to completion and now was claiming what he wanted with never before seen skill. All Arthur could do was hang on for the ride, and he didn't like it.

"Alfred!" he protested weakly, trying to catch his attention, but it was no use. He had three fingers in now and Alfred was scissoring him with ruthless precision. Arthur felt his cock twitch rebelliously and stir in response to his probing fingers, betraying Arthur by springing back to life so quickly.

_'Curse being sixteen and a victim of my own repressed libido!' _Arthur whimpered in his mind.

"Take deep breaths, babe. It'll be easier," Alfred advised, as if _he_ were the one tutoring Arthur, the awkward virgin. The royal bristled.

"I have a name, Alfred!" he snapped, starting to really lose his temper. Alfred glanced up at Arthur (_finally!)_ and seemed startled by the other boy's tone.

"Artie, what's wrong?" he asked, but it was too little, too late. Besides, he wasn't stopping. Instead, he took the attitude of assuming Arthur's annoyance was nervousness. In what he thought was a reassuring way, he kissed Arthur's forehead condescendingly and startled a yelp out of the other boy when he slid in, Arthur's knees still trapped between their chests.

Arthur had to admit, the position _did_ make it more comfortable to be penetrated, but it still felt too different, too strange. Arthur's anxieties finally beat out his sex drive, and his erection faded even as he tensed under Alfred's hands.

Arthur reassured himself (since Alfred was doing such a piss-poor job of it) and remembered that Alfred didn't last very long even when they had sex regularly back at school, so after a summer without sex, surely it would be over quickly. Arthur was to be surprised once again.

"Alfred!" he protested again, when the other boy broke his rhythm and pulled out completely. He changed their position for a second time. Without so much as asking Arthur's permission, he flipped him onto his belly and pulled his arse into the air. Much to Arthur's embarrassment, he began to play with his cheeks, massaging and rubbing them, even going so far as to give him a light spank. Arthur tried turning, but Alfred's too-big hands held his hips firmly in place. Even worse, the shirt Arthur was still wearing had slipped down and now his arms and face were tangled up in the fabric.

"You impertinent little—" the rest of Arthur's muffled verbal assault was interrupted when he felt Alfred's tongue began to lap over his tingling arse, licking at the reddened skin and then dipping down to his hole. Arthur's eyes went wide in surprise as he felt a tongue probe where only fingers and cock had been before. Arthur was already stretched and, despite the strangeness of their reunion, his body wanted Alfred desperately. Arthur nearly bit through his lip to prevent himself from crying out in hoarse pleasure as the energetic tongue set to work. Arthur's muscles clenched around his boyfriend in need, and he pushed his bottom up towards him seeking more of the new sensation.

Just as he was really beginning to enjoy the spanking/suckling combination, Alfred was abruptly moving on again. Now he easily hefted Arthur backwards into his arms, so that his back was pressed against Alfred's chest, and his cock (neglected during his attention to Arthur's hole) slammed into the smaller boy hard and relentless. Arthur tossed his head back against Alfred's strong shoulder and felt fists tangle up in the material of his expensive shirt. Alfred lifted him and then let him fall, convincing Arthur each time that he was going to slide out of the awkward position and one or both of them was going to get seriously injured as a result.

Still, if he put away the unsettling feeling of being repeatedly dropped on a slippery slope of muscular thighs, Alfred was hitting Arthur's prostate in a way he'd never done before. Arthur's erection returned full-force and bobbed almost painfully as Alfred jerked the thinner boy about as he pleased. Facing away from him as Arthur was, there was nowhere for him to grab for stability. Arthur tried grounding himself with his knees against the mattress, but each time he sunk down on Alfred's cock, it was only seconds before he was being lifted up again.

Arthur couldn't decide whether he was furious with Alfred or aroused out of his mind. With an angry growl, Arthur settled on furious as Alfred released him for the final time and came hard inside. Alfred's toned arms finally gave out and Arthur slipped out of his grasp, sliding down his sweaty legs and tumbling against the mattress in an inelegant sprawl. Alfred was panting like a racehorse and grinning like a devil when Arthur weakly pulled his face out of the mattress and glared over his shoulder at the cocky boy. He was so mad that he couldn't even find the words. He just twisted more towards Alfred, balled up his fist, and tried to hit him. Laughing, thinking it was a joke, Alfred caught the attack easily and pulled the shorter boy flush against his chest. Arthur's second erection strained between them and Alfred kissed him hard, not allowing discussion yet, as he slipped the hand not gripping Arthur's wrist in between them to tug on the angry boy's cock. As Alfred's tongue filled Arthur's mouth, nearly licking his tonsils, Arthur let out a strangled, wet moan and came weakly against him for a second time.

Alfred let go of Arthur's limp manhood and tangled his fingers up with the hand which, just seconds before, would have punched him if Arthur had gotten his way. Arthur felt himself being lowered back to the soft, cotton Superman sheets and Alfred's heavy body draped over his like a blanket.

Finally, he could gasp for air when Alfred released his mouth and dropped his face down in the curve between neck and shoulder. Now, the football player was breathing even harder, but he made even the simple act of breathing sound ridiculously self-assured.

"Bastard!" Arthur hissed weakly. He felt Alfred grin against his neck.

"You liked it," he retorted. "You're just mad that I spanked you like a naughty little boy," he teased in a husky, post-sex voice that went straight to the base of Arthur's spine and made him want to part his legs for him all over again.

Instead, he worked an arm out from underneath Alfred (tugging it away from his clingy fingers) and slapped him as hard as he could on the arse—there was nothing playful or sexy about it. Still, Alfred had the nerve to pretend it didn't hurt, and instead he just laughed long and loud against Arthur's ear.

This—lying as close together as humanly possible—felt like Arthur remembered, but the sex had been like being with a total stranger. It made Arthur upset, and his emotions rose up in his throat like bile.

"I love you, babe," Alfred muttered, clearly on the verge of going right back to sleep. Arthur's impressive eyebrows furrowed downwards in annoyance.

"My _name_ is Arthur—not babe!" he protested once more. Alfred, the git, just smiled against Arthur's shoulder and passed out again, leaving Arthur trapped underneath him, sticky and tangled in a sweaty dress shirt that was likely now ruined. So much for happy reunions.

* * *

><p>"Ivan, don't slouch so. It is bad for your back," a busty, platinum haired girl chided fondly. Her most noticeable feature was her massive breasts, but if one looked a little further up, they'd note her kind, playful eyes and her motherly smile. The slouching boy shot her an annoyed glower and hunkered down even lower over his plate, shoveling food down his mouth with single-minded determination to ignore everyone else at the table.<p>

"Big brother, I won't let you hurt your back. If you don't sit up straight, I'll hurt _you_," Natalia threatened ominously. Natalia, his youngest sister, was as hauntingly beautiful as she was violent—a mafia daughter to the core. Ivan glared at her, too, annoyed by her logic that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, and stuffed his cheeks with borsch till they puffed out comically, still hunched over stubbornly.

Casually, a slender hand brushed over his shoulder, toying with the curls at the base of his neck.

"Westerners eat like pigs at a trough. You have no manners or delicacy, you big oaf," Yao criticized in rapid Chinese. Ivan only caught the words 'pig' and 'oaf' (Yao used these frequently) and a scary, semi-cracked smile appeared on his face as he straightened to the point of ridiculousness. He flashed the child-like smile at his sisters, and then at his little companion, as if saying _'Happy now, you damned harpies?'_

Yao just smiled softly at his obedience (forced by nagging as it was) and dabbed at Ivan's chin with a neglected napkin.

"Poor baby, nagged all summer by those who only want the best for you. Such a hard life you lead," Yao said in choppy, though perfectly clear Russian. Sofia smiled a teasing little smile and quickly hid it behind her hand. It was obvious to Sofia, though perhaps not to the younger Natalia, that her little brother was in love. She and Yao had gotten along splendidly from day one, and poor Ivan had been "suffering" in the face of their alliance all summer.

It had been Sofia who kept Yao company when Ivan's father took Ivan out at night and didn't return with him till early in the morning, their breath reeking of vodka and their clothes in disarray. As they struggled together to tuck the drunken, strangely vulnerable boy into bed after such outings, Sofia decided that Yao was good for her brother, even if they were both men. He did not blame Ivan for things he could not control, nor did he play the jealous housewife. He simply accepted the fact that Ivan had obligations to his father to fulfill and that, unpleasant as they might have been, they were inescapable.

He was there for Ivan the next morning, too, when the older boy silently raged and could barely hold his murderous temper in check. Yao thought of one such morning, the worst of them all, when he'd almost abandoned the other boy to his anger, fearing for his own safety.

"LEAVE!" Ivan had roared, slamming his fist into the wall near Yao's head nearly two weeks before. Yao had merely stared at his lover impassively, unmoved by his rage. Inside, though, he was trembling in fear. His heart ached for Ivan and what he was going through at his father's hand. Sometimes Ivan came home roughed up, as if he'd been fighting like a prized dog, and other nights he came home with tacky lipstick all over his shirt collar and the perfume of poor, Russian hookers clinging noxiously to his skin. His father had once said it was a late birthday present, since Ivan had turned seventeen in China the previous Christmas. He said this with a cruel, cold stare in Yao's direction, as if driving the point home that Ivan could escape to China and Europe, but his expectations at home would never go away.

Ivan's father knew about them, too, and it enraged him in a chilling way that made Yao afraid to sleep in the man's home at night for the whole first week. When he'd expressed this fear to Ivan, the other boy had showed up in his bedroom the very next night, collected him with innocent, smiling determination, and brought him to his own room. He hadn't made love to him that night, as if he was expecting someone to burst in the door any moment. Instead, he held him protectively in the circle of his muscular arm, singing to him lowly in achingly beautiful Russian—songs his mother had once sung to him when he'd been a very small boy. Yao knew this, because when Sofia caught him humming the tune the next day, she teared up and proceeded to clutch him like a teddy bear to her impressive chest whilst explaining that she thought Ivan had no memories of such things.

The next morning after their sleepover, everyone had been silent and tense at breakfast. Yao heard Ivan fighting with his father in the study later, but Ivan never spoke of what was said, and all Yao could do was tenderly press a homemade Chinese remedy against the blackened skin around Ivan's eye. That night, Ivan had gone out with his father and come back with humiliation in his lavender blue eyes. Yao had broken down, begged him to just leave with him—fly back to China, or leave for America early—but Ivan was determined to endure his stay, and Yao's weakness made him even angrier the next day.

"You are not happy here, you _promudobliadskaja pizdoprojebina, _so LEAVE!" Ivan had roared. Yao had no mind for translating the Russian, and he honestly didn't want to. He knew it was insulting, and that was enough. Instead, he reached forward with trembling hands and clutched at the front of Ivan's disheveled, wrinkled shirt.

"If you stay, I stay. Where you go, I go," Yao said with a spark of his usual fieriness. Ivan had choked up at his words, uncurling his fist and sinking his fingers into Yao's hair. He'd slanted his mouth hungrily over Yao's and clung to the other boy desperately. As Ivan sunk to his knees, Yao went with him, cradling the other boy in his arms and comforting him softly in Chinese as he cried.

That night, Ivan had laid on his back and Yao had ridden him slowly, staring deeply into the other boy's eyes the entire time. Their lovemaking was neither wild nor aggressive, just simple and sincere. Yao had abated Ivan's rage by giving him what the hookers could not—sex as an expression of love and tenderness.

Now, their visit was nearly at an end. It had been a test of their love for each other most assuredly, though it was less terrifying than their visit to China. Yao had fond memories of Ivan's sisters and of the beautiful sights of Russia he'd seen with Ivan acting as a proud, beaming tour guide.

"It will be sad when you go," Sofia said abruptly, sniffling over her dinner. She was an emotional girl, though very maternal, and strangely opposite of her aggressive, harsh little sister.

"Don't be such a crybaby, Sofia," Ivan replied, though his tone was fond. Yao took his own seat at the dinner table next to Ivan and discreetly held his hand underneath the table.

"I feel better now though, knowing you have Yao to take care of you while you are at school," Sofia said, her tears clearing away almost instantly like a passing summer rain, to be replaced by a mischievous little grin.

"Sofia..." Ivan warned, his brows forking downwards in displeasure. The longer their stay, the more bold Sofia had become in her teasing. Yao loved the way the gentle heckling from his eldest sister (and Natalia's confused demands to know what was going on) made Ivan blush like a little boy. He could talk about whores and murder without flinching, but at the slightest hint that he was sweet on Yao, his pale cheeks would flush with color.

Thinking such thoughts made Yao smile contentedly as he began to (neatly) eat his own serving of dinner. The door opened again and Ivan's hand jerked back to his own lap. Ivan's father entered in his commanding way—rather unassuming and perhaps even a little smaller than his son. What he lacked in muscle definition, however, he made up for with the ability to inspire sheer terror in just a single look.

Ivan's father was a heartless, soulless man, at least as far as Yao could tell.

"Sofia, prepare my plate, if you would be so kind, my dear," Nikolai Braginski requested in heavily accented English. He spoke it for Yao's benefit. Even when Yao had said that he spoke fairly decent Russian, Nikolai continued to speak in English, as if determined to treat Yao as an outsider. It almost seemed to annoy him that he could not speak in Russian to his children when he didn't wish for Yao to understand his words.

Without being asked, Ivan poured a glass of kvass for his father and respectfully placed it in front of him. Nikolai's hard, cruel eyes twinkled as he unfolded his napkin in his lap. The good mood from earlier had evaporated at his arrival. This draining of cheer seemed to please him—that was the sort of man he was. Still, in Yao's presence, he was at all times perfectly polite. He never once raised his voice, or made a single threat.

All the same, Yao was terrified of him. Though he'd been a spoiled and adored first son, and he'd had free reign of his household since practically his birth, Yao turned into a deferential, soft-spoken little boy in the older man's presence. He could not help it, and thankfully, Ivan did not judge him for his weakness in his father's presence. How Ivan stood so tall and brave in front of his patriarch awed Yao. He couldn't comprehend how it was even possible to have such strength and mental fortitude.

"You will leave tomorrow, yes? To the party in the American capital?" Nikolai confirmed. Both his daughters sat with bowed heads, utterly silent. Only Ivan met his father's eyes and spoke to him like a man should. Yao behaved as the girls did, his eyes glued to his dinner plate and hiding as best he could behind the curtain of his hair.

Despite jerking his hand away instinctively upon his father's arrival, Ivan sensed his need for reassurance and his hand drifted back into Yao's lap. He placed it over Yao's slender thigh, giving a gentle squeeze. Yao flinched a little in surprise, and it made Nikolai's attention shift to him.

"Tell me, Yao, are all Chinese men like you?" he asked, for the first time his tone sounding less than polite. He almost sounded insulted by Yao's very presence. The large hand on his thigh tensed. Sofia swallowed heavily and leaned forward, fumbling for a dish.

"Father, please have some of the—"

"_Quiet_, Sofia. I am not speaking to you," Nikolai said mildly. Sofia sat, silent as a statue, her eyes turned downwards once more. Yao admired her, too, but he wished she hadn't tried to intervene on his account—not if it would get her in trouble. Yao didn't think Nikolai would hurt him, but he couldn't say the same for Sofia.

"I am just myself. I cannot speak for other Chinese men," Yao replied, trying to speak clearly. Still, his hands were trembling. Thankfully, Nikolai had only addressed him a handful of times during his visit, but each time left Yao a nervous wreck. Just imagining what the criminal was capable of terrified him. He was not like Ivan's hulking, though likeable uncle Zakhar—he was another breed entirely. He whispered instead of roared, and he caressed before he squeezed the life out of someone.

"Well, I think it is time we speak honestly, though it is not talk for the delicate ears of my daughters. You girls are through eating, yes?" Nikolai confirmed. The girls stood up instantly, abandoning their full plates.

Ivan glared at his father for this dismissal, worrying over his sisters missing a meal. Yao loved him for that.

"So," Nikolai said when his daughters were gone, "You have made my son a homosexual."

Yao didn't know what to say to that. What did one possibly say to that? He stayed quiet.

"I have tried to make him a man, but he has failed. Haven't you, Ivan? Are my women not beautiful enough? They are clean—the most expensive in all of Russia—yet my son is as innocent in their hands as a little boy."

The hand on his thigh clenched, and Yao hissed in pain. Glancing at him in surprise, Ivan instantly removed his hand, his lavender gaze apologetic.

"Ivan is too much like my stupid brother. He thinks having brute strength is what it means to be a man. He does not realize strength means nothing if you cannot make a family—if you cannot have a son."

Yao understood that. He was Chinese, after all.

"My family has...expectations of me as well. I wish for children some day, too," Yao said weakly. He'd never before wished he was a girl, but at that moment, he was full of bitter envy for what his body could not provide him.

"I have decided to forgive my son for his sickness. In all other respects, he is my pride and joy. You have infected him, and that cannot be helped, but I will use it to this family's benefit."

Yao looked to Ivan in confusion. The other boy was stone-faced, utterly unreadable even to his lover.

"I...I do not understand," Yao said.

"This summer, Ivan has fathered a child—a son," Nikolai said with mock pride. Ivan glanced at his father with his brows furrowed ever so slightly, and that was when Yao realized Ivan was just as clueless as he was.

"You see, my enemies think it is a laughing matter that my son will never have a son of his own. They think his sickness makes them strong enough to mock me...to mock my family. I have shown them what I think of their mockery."

"Father...what have you done?" Ivan asked, his voice flat and cold.

"I have killed them. I have started a war...and I have kidnapped my enemy's grandson. Not his anymore, though. Now he is mine. There is more than one way to have a child, you see? You will take the child and your sisters to America, Ivan, where your sisters will be safe from revenge and my grandson will never be retrieved."

Yao felt his blood turn to ice. It couldn't be possible. It simply _couldn't_ be! Ivan was only seventeen, and sure, plenty of men back in China and in Russia were fathers at that age, but not _them_. They were young and wealthy! They still had their years in school to enjoy, and careers to pursue beyond that. Yao had not tried to imagine where they would live, or if they would even still be together, but now his boyfriend's father was making those decisions for them, punishing them because they were gay. He was insane—a complete and total lunatic.

Yao's dark eyes filled with fire.

"_No,_" he said. Ivan swallowed thickly next to him, clearly overwhelmed and confused.

"Oh, so you _can_ speak like a man?" Nikolai said genially, as if surprised by a turn in the weather. Yao stood, fear be damned, and glared at Nikolai.

"You have overstepped your bounds. You drag Ivan to disgusting whore houses, and out of respect for your house and what you have done for my family, I say nothing. You bring him home drunk and beaten, and still I say nothing. You _strike_ him, with your own hand, and I _still _say nothing. But no more. You go too far. Ivan has _not_ fathered a child, and you will not make him responsible for one!" Yao stood determinedly straight, even as Nikolai casually tossed his napkin to the table and stood.

Ivan cursed under his breath and stood as well, placing himself solidly in front of Yao.

"I will not let you hurt him," Ivan said, even though his voice broke and his broad shoulders were shaking. Yao pushed around him, trying to wriggle out of Ivan's grasp.

"He won't hurt me. I'm _not_ afraid of him! You're a monster, and I won't ever forgive you for how you've hurt Ivan!" In his fury, Yao's hair had escaped his tie and it swayed around his delicate features. Ivan held him back protectively, though Yao was making a valiant attempt at breaking free to do god-only-knows-what to the head of the Braginski family. Ivan half-feared he would produce a frying pan out of nowhere and go to town on a leader of the Russian mafia.

He would have laughed if he wasn't about to piss his pants.

Apparently, his father suddenly found Yao amusing as well. For the first time since their arrival, his eyes turned warm and he laughed—_truly_ laughed—at the spectacle Yao was making.

"I see...now I see. I will not pretend that I am happy you have made my son into a queer, but if he must keep a little bitch around, I suppose you are not so bad. If you truly care for my son, then you will care for my grandson. Keep them both well until it is safe for my family in Russia, da?" Nikolai said with a dismissive grin. "I think I am through with dinner for the night. The sight of my son with his arms around another man has made me lose my appetite. Ivan, you will find your son in your rooms. He has all he will need for the trip to America, and I have already arranged things for your sisters."

And just like that, Nikolai left, and Ivan sunk heavily into a chair the moment he was gone.

For a long time, Yao was silent. Finally, he approached Ivan's chair and climbed into the other boy's lap.

"You are not _really_ a father, Ivan. You do not have to take responsibility for this child," Yao said. "When we get to America, we can contact the government. We can—"

"No," Ivan said, his usual strength slowly returning.

"But Ivan..."

"This is my father's punishment—to saddle me with a bastard child of my enemy—and I will bear his punishment. The child is Braginski blood now, and I will raise him."

"This...this is _crazy_, Ivan! You are seventeen! You..._we_...can't raise a child!"

"I do not expect you to share my punishment. We are done, Yao. I cannot escape this world, but _you_ can. You are not meant for this life, and I will not bring you back to it. I am not yet strong enough to protect you from him. I was a fool to think I could."

"But you _did_ protect me! Your eye proves that," Yao insisted stubbornly.

"No. This is a threat, you naïve idiot. If you come back, he will treat you as he treats Sofia and Natalia. He will place demands of the family on you that I do not—_will_ not—let you accept. Don't you understand? I can't protect you here. You are _not_ safe here. My father has tried to scare you, and he knows—at least he hopes—you will not be foolish enough to return."

For a long moment, Yao simply stared at the boy who had changed his life, who had been willing to die for him. Ivan was his protector and his ally—his constant friend.

"If you stay, I stay. Where you go, I go," Yao renewed his promise. Ivan shook his head in weak, halfhearted denial, but Yao was resolute. He pressed a kiss that was not returned against Ivan's lips and slid off the other boy's lap.

"Come, Ivan. Let's go to our rooms. Your..._our_...son is waiting."

For a long moment, Ivan hesitated. "I mean it," he said softly. "We are done, Yao. This child is no son of yours."

Glaring at Ivan just as fiercely as he'd glared at his father, Yao raised his chin imperially.

"I do _not_ accept it, and _lay hoe chun ah_!"

"Too fucking bad, and I am _not _an idiot," Ivan snapped, shoving past him harshly.

"You're _my_ idiot. You're my fat, sloppy, creepy idiot, and there's nothing you can do about it! _You_ love me!" Yao insisted stubbornly as they shoved each other down the hallway. Ivan's "shoving" was incredibly light and more of an irritated mock attack than an actual shove.

"I'm _not _fat, you _nytʹe zhenshchina!_"

"That's a fine way to talk to the father of your child," Yao retorted, shoving Ivan as hard as he possibly could (this barely made him alter his step).

"You're _not_ a father!" Ivan yelled.

"Neither are _you_!" Yao shouted back.

Shoving and snipping at each other, they pushed their way into Ivan's room to see the addition of a simple crib. Both teens fell silent at the sight of the little toddler napping innocently in his pen. He had sandy blond hair, soft and silky, just a few shades darker than Ivan's. Ivan was rooted to the spot, motionless with a strange look in his eyes, but Yao recovered first and moved forward to inspect the child more closely.

"This is kidnapping. Ivan, we can't be a part of this," Yao said quietly, their earlier spat forgotten. Ivan swallowed thickly and joined him, staring down at the babe but making no move to touch him.

"This is the Galante child. My father has been foolish—_very _foolish."

"You know him?" Yao asked. Ivan nodded.

"Sofia wrote to tell me of his birth. Our families...are not exactly on good terms. You see, if things had played out differently, I would have been expected to kill him."

"Ivan!" Yao hissed in displeasure. Ivan just shrugged.

"I did not say I _would—_just that I would be expected to. He is a blood enemy...though not anymore, I suppose."

"He's a _toddler_. Toddlers don't have enemies, Ivan," Yao snapped. Ivan's fists tightened around the crib.

"Mafia children in Russia do. But it no longer matters. My father has provoked a powerful enemy, perhaps the only one strong enough to challenge his position. He is right to declare it war. You, Sofia and Natalia must leave immediately."

"And you, too, right?" Yao insisted. Ivan sighed.

"I wish I could stay with my father, but someone must keep his daughters and...grandson...safe."

"Why? Why have any loyalty to him, Ivan?" Yao asked, clearly trying to understand. Ivan lifted his chin a bit, clearly proud of his father despite everything that had been said.

"He could have killed me for shaming him in such a way. He is a good father. He has acted rashly, but it was my actions that provoked him. Now he is trying to protect my life. He is a hard man, but he has provided well for my sisters and me. His life has not been easy, and his enemies hunt him like hungry wolves."

There was a quiet knock on the door. Yao and Ivan shared a wary glance before Ivan went to open it. On the other side, Sofia was sniffling into a handkerchief, already dressed in her night gown. She threw herself against her startled younger brother.

"What has papa done? They will kill him! He's gone too far!"

Ivan held his sister easily and petted her hair with practiced ease.

"Hush, Sofia. Papa has done what he must. It is not your place to question him. He needs you to care for the child, just like you cared for Natalia and me after the Galante killed mama."

Feeling overwhelmed with all he had learned and witnessed, Yao sunk onto the edge of the bed. In the course of just one dinner, everything had changed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Oh, did I forget to mention this story would have toddler!Latvia? Hmm...must have slipped my mind. :P But yeah, the kid's not an OC, he's age-altered Latvia. His family has a feud with Ivan's family. A long time ago, they killed Ivan's mother. Now, Ivan's father has killed Raivis' parents and kidnapped young Raivis. He's roughly two years old. In case I didn't make it clear, Sofia is Ukraine, and Natalia is Belarus.


	3. Misconceptions

**Chapter 3**

Francis slid his phone back into his bag with a smile still lingering on his lips. He would see Matthew again soon, and the excitement they both felt was obvious—their texting had become increasingly lewd. Francis's eyes trailed curiously over the empty arm chair next to him. International flights were so horribly long. He wondered idly who his seat mate would be in first class and hoped it would at least be someone with good conversational skills. He did not have to wait long in suspense. Some boring looking, stuffy business-types shuffled past with their expensive carry-ons before a girl appeared like some sort of tropical angel sent to relieve Francis from the tedium of a fourteen hour flight.

Despite having a boyfriend whom he dearly loved, Francis had an appreciation for beauty. This had gotten him into trouble with Matthew more times than he could count, but Francis just couldn't help it. He would never sleep with someone who wasn't his boyfriend (unless it was another threesome scenario), but he was also rather shameless about looking and occasionally flirting. It came as natural to him as breathing, and it was mere misfortune that he'd fallen in love with someone whose never-ending insecurities caused him to view Francis' harmless flirtation as the worst sort of betrayal. In their darkest hour, it had occurred to Francis that his relationship with Matthew too closely resembled the relationship that had once existed between his parents. The emotional roller coaster he'd been on since his parents announced the divorce was slowing down, but it had definitely impacted his relationship with Matthew. First it brought them closer, but then he had thought of disturbing parallels between his relationship with Matthew and the relationship his parents shared...but what could be done? He loved Matthew. For every wrong he saw in their relationship, there were just as many rights. It was up to him to make sure they didn't repeat his parents' mistakes, if such a thing were even possible. Francis tried not to dwell on it, preferring instead to live in the moment. He hoped seeing Matthew again would ease his worries—spending so much time apart over the summer had not been good for either of them. He flirted a little _too_ much when Matthew wasn't nearby, and Matthew thought every missed phone call was proof that Francis no longer loved him. Separation brought out the worst in both of their personalities.

Thinking about Matthew distracted him only momentarily. When the girl was actually sitting across from him, situating her bag beneath the longest, tannest legs Francis had seen in a _long_ time, all thoughts of Matthew fled Francis's mind like a handful of confetti being tossed up in front of a spinning fan.

"_Salut la belle_," Francis greeted with a pearly white grin. He was seventeen this year, though he could easily pass for twenty-one. The girl was like Francis—though she looked young, she also looked too beautiful to still be a child. She blushed at his greeting, though she raised a perfectly sculpted brow to indicate her mild annoyance. Francis had never seen such expressive, honey-colored eyes. They were so large and compelling, framed by such long, dark lashes, that Francis leaned towards her almost subconsciously. Her skin was flawless, her figure like that of a goddess, and from across the small space between their seats, Francis could smell a tropical aroma from her hair and skin.

"You're staring at me like a total creeper," she said, her blush darkening further at her own, bold words. Her accent was hard to place. She sounded like a native French speaker who'd been speaking British English for a long, long time. Hints of French vowels softened the crispness of her British consonants. Her accent was at odds with her exotic, island-girl beauty, and Francis was even more intrigued.

"A girl as beautiful as you must be accustomed to staring. However impolite it may be, I'm afraid I couldn't resist. My name is Francis Bonnefoy. And you are?" Francis asked with a roguish wink. The girl flashed him an unimpressed, mild glare of reproach before leaning over to fetch a magazine from her bag. The graceful action allowed Francis a peek down the V-cut of her designer top, at cleavage that would make a priest blush with desire.

"I'm uninterested. I have a boyfriend," she replied flatly. Francis grinned.

"So? I do, too." Francis enjoyed the startled look this statement earned him from the girl, who nearly dropped her magazine. Francis smoothly crossed his legs and watched her transform from confident and assertive to blushing and bashful.

"Oh! I-I'm sorry. I mean, I shouldn't have assumed you were flirting with me. I promise I'm not so arrogant that I think every man who looks at me is...I'm just sorry for assuming. My name's Michelle, but my friends just call me Shell."

"Do not be worried, _belle_. I take no offense. I am sure you do not appreciate being hit on and stared at all the time. Like I said, though, I could not help myself. You see, I have an appreciation for fashion. When I see you, I can't help but think what an exquisite model you would make," Francis schmoozed. The girl giggled—even her laugh was beautiful—and revealed that her magazine was a French fashion rag that Francis subscribed to. His interest in her skyrocketed. The stewardess came by and offered them both drinks without even thinking to check their identification. Francis had never questioned it, but his good looks always seemed to distract people from their common sense. This power was one he shared with Michelle, who accepted her glass of champagne with practiced ease.

"D-do you really think so? I've been trying to get into modeling for ages," she confessed.

"It shocks me that you have not already been on the cover. Have you read the article on page twelve yet? I thought that one was particularly interesting," Francis said with put-upon casualty. He smiled inwardly as he proceeded to ignore the girl, pulling out his own reading material for the flight. This was a game he'd played many times before. Despite acting tough at first, Michelle was like all the others. By the time the flight was over, she'd be crazy about him.

"I'm actually flying to D.C. to meet a new agent...and then to start school in the states."

"Is that so?" Francis replied, pretending he was not really interested. The island girl watched him attentively now, eager to make a new friend—especially one who shared her passion for clothing and modeling.

"Will you be meeting your boyfriend there?" Francis asked casually, glancing up from his book. The girl blushed again.

"O-oh, I actually don't have one. I just say that because...well...it's easier that way."

"Then we have something else in common. I don't really have a boyfriend," Francis replied. The girl looked horribly confused for a moment and Francis chuckled. "I'm just joking. His name's Matthew. We've been together almost a year now—met in school."

The girl smiled (Francis's heart beat sped up at bit in response) and she seemed curious. Francis knew the look well. At first he thought having a boyfriend would ruin his chances with beautiful women, but he'd found quite the opposite to be true. If anything, thinking they _couldn't_ have him made them even more desperate to get at him than before. When he factored in his royal lineage, his money, and his looks, the idea that he was _sensitive_ and stylish to boot—it made him irresistible, except to those girls who preferred the big, brawny brutish types.

Michelle definitely did not seem to be into that. She eyed Francis with poorly concealed interest. Francis wondered what it was about being gay that made some girls almost frantic to get with him, but he merely dismissed it as good fortune and went along with it.

"That's _so_ sweet. So you're gay then?"

"Bisexual, actually," Francis replied, tossing her another grin over the top of his book.

"Oh, lucky me then, huh?" Michelle said flirtatiously, perhaps without even realizing it. Francis's smirk widened. A hint of the earlier bashfulness returned to her expressive eyes and she confirmed, "You _were_ flirting with me earlier, right?"

Francis winked.

"_Oui_, but let's keep that just between us, hmm? We will likely never see each other again after this plane lands—until you appear on a cover of Vogue, that is, so let us pretend it's just you and me, and that we were meant to meet right here, right now. I want to know all about you, so that I can say I knew you before you became famous," Francis said as he closed his book again and turned on the charm. Francis had long ago learned that the favorite subject of women is themselves, and the more beautiful the girl, the truer that statement tended to be.

In Francis's neglected bag, his phone buzzed away with messages from Matthew—all of them to go unread until the plane landed and Francis's most recent diversion hailed her taxi and disappeared off Francis's radar.

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up from his nap to find that his room had grown dark and Arthur had not remained asleep in his arms. For a second, he panicked and wondered if it had all been a dream, but then the door to his bathroom opened and Arthur emerged in a neat set of new pajamas. They were too hot for the summer, and far too modest to be sexy. They practically buttoned up to the royal's throat.<p>

Alfred smiled happily at him all the same. Arthur was the same old Arthur—prim and proper, even after they'd had such an explosive reunion.

"I missed you, Artie," Alfred said, feeling like a sap and not caring. Arthur, however, remained standing rigidly in the doorway, arms firmly crossed over his cotton clad chest.

"We need to talk," Arthur threatened. Alfred wilted rather dramatically against his pillow.

"It's been less than four hours. What could I have _possibly_ done wrong so soon?" Alfred asked pathetically. He hoped the pouting would earn him a little slack. Maybe he'd been farting or snoring in his sleep again. Arthur always got embarrassed and fussy on him when Alfred was gassy (which was ridiculous, because he couldn't exactly help that sort of thing and if he didn't fart, his organs would explode.)

"You're acting differently, Alfred. Don't tell me I'm imagining it because—" Alfred cut the shorter boy off.

"Yeah, I am," he agreed easily. Arthur looked a little thrown-off by Alfred's reply and he uncrossed his arms warily.

"Well...I'm not entirely comfortable with it," Arthur replied, crossing the bedroom and sitting primly on the edge. Alfred pushed his lean torso up on his elbows. He was still nude, but the Superman sheet covered his hips. He smiled reassuringly at Arthur, and he could practically see the other boy's determination to be upset melt away harmlessly.

"I thought you didn't like how I let my mom boss me around so much," Alfred said. Arthur's impressive eyebrows forked downwards in displeasure.

"I don't, but—"

"So maybe I have been a little bratty around her this summer. Maybe I'm just sick of being her doormat. Why do you care if I mouth off to my mom, anyway?" Alfred asked. Arthur felt stuck. On one hand, he loved how earnest and polite Alfred was by nature, but on the other hand, he agreed with his boyfriend—Helen really didn't deserve to get Alfred's best when she'd treated him so horribly for so long. If Alfred was finally wising up to that, who was Arthur to dictate how he redefined his relationship with Helen? It was really none of his business if Alfred wanted to go through a rebellious phase.

"Treat your mother how you please then—that's up to you—but how you treat _me_ is a different matter," Arthur replied, some of his firmness returning. Alfred raised an innocent brow.

"Have I done something wrong?" Alfred asked. He knew Arthur's moods could be unpredictable at times, and experience had taught him it was best to admit his ignorance quickly rather than be punished for it later on.

"Earlier...when you..."

"Ravished you?" Alfred suggested with a big, shit-eating grin. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"That's not _exactly_ how I'd put it, but yes, when we had sex—I didn't teach you any of that," Arthur said, finally making his point. Alfred dropped back onto his pillow, his worries easily dismissed. Was that all it was? Arthur was such a worry-wart.

"I didn't cheat on you, Artie," Alfred said, his sincerity obvious. "How could you even think that?"

"Well, what am I supposed to assume?" Arthur replied hotly. Alfred nodded towards the edge of his bed.

"Check under there," he said. Confused, but curious, Arthur cautiously lifted the bed skirt and peeked underneath the bed. A trove of glossy magazines caught his eye, and he pulled one out.

"Are you serious?" he asked. Alfred was on the cover, posing in an American flag themed swim-suit for the Independence Day issue, and along with his scantily clad boyfriend, were big, bold phrases like "**50 Ways to Light his Fireworks!**" and "**How to Get a Summer Butt Without Working Yours Off!**"

"I'm not all beauty and no brains, babe. I don't _just_ look at myself in all those girly magazines. I read the articles, too," Alfred boasted, perfectly serious. Arthur struggled to keep a straight face and lost the battle pretty quickly.

"Are you telling me you learned all those moves from reading these ridiculous magazines?" Arthur confirmed, his smile threatening to turn into mocking laughter at any second. Alfred finally sensed the tone of insult and pouted playfully in retaliation. Arthur began to chuckle as he flipped to the dog-eared pages, his green eyes scanning the naughty suggestions for mixing it up in the bedroom. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I can't believe you—hmm...that's unique."

"What? Oh, yeah, they sometimes do articles on how to revamp your wardrobe by ripping clothes up or putting belts through stuff other than pants. The pictures make it look a lot easier than—hey! You can't read it if you were just about to tease me for doing the same thing!" Alfred protested, making a grab for his girly magazine. Arthur pushed him off easily, absorbed in the article fully now.

"I'd have never thought to use a scarf like that," Arthur mused, now completely distracted. Recognizing a losing battle when he saw one, Alfred flopped across his bed and nuzzled his nose against Arthur's thigh, simply happy that he was close by again. Distractedly, his boyfriend petted Alfred's mused hair and scratched between his shoulder blades, and Alfred knew that all had been forgiven.

"So you didn't like my new moves?" Alfred asked, a hint of a whine creeping into his otherwise confident tone. Arthur glanced down at him from the glossy pages of the magazine.

"I want you to do what's comfortable for you, love. If being a little more...assertive...is something you enjoy, then that's fine, but I'd like a bit more warning in the future. You were going about it totally different than what I was expecting—surely you can see how I was a little surprised," Arthur chastised, though it was a gentle rebuke.

"We've been together for, like, _forever_ now. I don't want you to get bored with me," Alfred said, craning his face up to catch Arthur's fond, though exasperated, green-eyed gaze.

"Alfred Jones, don't you know boredom is an impossible state to attain with you anywhere in the vicinity?" Arthur teased lovingly. His boyfriend puffed out his lips, asking for a kiss. Arthur leaned down to oblige him, even though the angle was a little awkward, and was glad that things weren't as bad as they had seemed upon his arrival. In fact, he was beginning to feel like the whole thing had been blown out of proportion—he blamed Helen's flair for the dramatics. The kiss turned from playful to passionate as Arthur shifted for easier access to Alfred's mouth. When they parted, Arthur was lightly panting, and his skin felt hot under his stuffy pajamas.

"So...what else did you learn in your magazines?" Arthur prompted. His only reply was a mischievous, confident new grin, that looked so at home on Alfred's face that Arthur marveled at the fact he'd never seen an expression like it before. Alfred had definitely found new confidence over the summer—a confidence which made him take less crap from his mother and preen a bit more when a camera flash went off—but Arthur decided if Alfred was happy with his new-found fame, improved looks and popularity, then Arthur was happy about his successes, too. He'd learned with that whole Kiku fiasco the year before that Alfred was loyal to a fault. It was his own jealous and prideful tendencies that he needed to keep in check if their relationship was going to survive in the harsh glare of the media.

"Well, I read about this one trick that involves pouring something sweet all over your junk before I give you a blow-job, but I figured I'd have to ask before I poured a McDonald's shake all over King Arthur."

Arthur growled playfully and tackled his boyfriend, nipping harshly at Alfred's plump lips in punishment.

"What have I told you about calling my knob King Arthur? I _love_ that story, and you're tainting it. And you aren't pouring ice cream all over my arousal either. Use your head, love. I won't have an arousal for very long after _that_."

"Oh, I dunno. I think the mix of all that cold and hot could feel pretty awesome," Alfred protested, rolling his hips up against Arthur's as he did so.

"I think you've done quite enough experimenting on me for one night. If anyone's getting doused in a favorite dessert, it's _your_ turn. You'd look quite tasty covered in bread pudding," Arthur purred suggestively. Alfred, however, just laughed.

"Dude...there is _nothing_ sexy about your weird British food. Plus, I've eaten your cooking before, remember? Cock tastes weird enough without you adding fish and chips into the mix."

"I don't even know what we're talking about at this point," Arthur growled a little breathlessly, as he began to pump his hips against Alfred's with hastily growing urgency.

"Doesn't matter. Just get outta your grandpa pajamas and _fuck_ me," Alfred begged. A choked moan was his only answer from Arthur as the other boy all but tore off his pajamas and knickers and began rutting against Alfred's nude hip in earnest. His worries put to rest, Arthur allowed himself to completely enjoy being with his boyfriend once more, and kissed him breathless to show Alfred just how desperately he'd been missed.

* * *

><p>Ivan thought he'd known the definition of pain and suffering. Growing up in a rough neighborhood with a blood-splattered lineage and crime as his prospective career path, Ivan liked to think of himself as hardened to life's challenges.<p>

He was wrong. So very, very wrong.

"Hey, can't you get that kid to quiet down? I didn't pay so damn much for my ticket to hear a baby crying for six hours!" a passenger finally complained. Directly in his ear (resistant to both Sofia and Yao's attempts to calm him) Raivis alternated between bawling and throwing temper tantrums. Despite the fact that Ivan was thinking less than kind thoughts about his "son" that mirrored the complaints from the other passengers, he wasn't about to let some asshole yell at _his_ family. Ivan stood up slowly, his expression blank, everything about his aura screaming intimidation...except for the dried cereal stuck to his shirt, the drool stains on his clothing, and the diaper bag held in his arms.

"Sit _down_! You're causing a scene!" Yao hissed in displeasure at his side. Sofia fretted over the cries of the baby, berating herself for not knowing how to calm him.

"It's just been so long since I cared for a baby—I really don't know what's upsetting him. Maybe he's sick?" she suggested weakly. She was already an emotional girl, and the strain of the plane ride finally made her crack. Big fat tears began sliding down her cheeks to match those of the miserable toddler in her arms. Bad as Ivan looked, Sofia took the brunt of Raivis's unhappiness. Her hair was in disarray and there were thick bags under her eyes. Raivis was old enough to know he'd been taken from familiar surroundings and was _not_ happy about it.

"How much longer is this flight? Big brother, don't you have anything fun for me to do? I'm bored!" Natalia complained. Ivan found her whining to be almost as jarring as Raivis's constant crying. When he'd left for school the year before, she'd been an intense and mostly silent twelve-year-old. Now, away from their father's intimidating presence, she was fast becoming the most annoying, spoiled thirteen-year-old brat that Ivan had ever had the displeasure of tending.

"Natalia—" Ivan growled in warning, his focus shifting from the outspoken man to his obnoxious sister.

"_Ivan_! For the last time, sit _down_! And stop growling at your sister. I told you to let her get her carry-on down a half hour ago so she'd have something to do," Yao reminded, his dark eyes filled with annoyance. Ivan mimicked his nagging tone as he sat down like a deflated balloon.

"Those bags are packed too damn tightly and hers is in the very back. What the hell do you expect me to—" Ivan's rebuttal was immediately interrupted when he felt something slimy dribble over his hand. Yao and Natalia frowned in distaste and leaned back from the puking two-year-old. Sofia winced to see her suspicion confirmed, just as a flight attendant stopped to offer some towels and a puke bag—as if the wild, squirming toddler was considerate enough to actually use it.

Ivan was silent for a long moment and then took a deep, bracing breath. Six more hours to go before they landed in D.C. Just six more hours.

* * *

><p>Matthew marked another day off his calendar and smiled to see that his flight for D.C. left in just a few short hours. Very soon he'd be reunited with his friends again, and best of all, with Francis. He'd missed his boyfriend almost as much as he'd felt neglected by him. Francis had spoken of being unable to stay away for long and coming to visit him long before summer ended, but that had proved to be all talk. Francis had been distracted by his parents' divorce and his travels to England, and now the French boy would be the very last one from their group to arrive stateside. He'd just barely make it in time for Alfred's birthday party. Even Ivan and Yao, who hadn't planned to come so early at all, were going to beat him there.<p>

But it would be nice, Matthew thought, to see everyone in person again. The summer had felt like a small eternity.

There had been one unexpected joy in the midst of his tedious days, and that was his budding friendship with Alex, his new pen pal from Cuba. He flipped open his phone to see (unsurprisingly) that Francis hadn't replied to any of the six messages he'd sent that morning. Alex, however, had already sent him three. Matthew read them happily and began to text back, but was interrupted mid-text by an incoming call from his new friend. He smiled at Alex's eagerness to talk and glanced about the lobby to make sure nobody was waiting or passing through.

"Hi Alex," Matthew greeted warmly.

"_Morning! What are you up to, socio?" _Alex asked.

"Not much. Just working my last morning. I leave at noon and then I'm packing up for my flight tonight. I'll get in pretty late, but I can't wait to see my best friend."

"_And your girl, huh? Don't be acting cool! You know you miss her!" _Alex teased. Matthew felt a little guilty as he always did when Alex mentioned his "girlfriend." To be fair, Matthew had never claimed Francis was a girl...he'd just never mentioned that he was a boy. Alex had assumed incorrectly and Matthew had just gone with it. He wasn't sure why he was so keen on hiding his homosexuality from Alex (he'd never been ashamed of it before) but for reasons that were a mystery even to himself, Matthew liked the idea that Alex thought of him as just another one of the guys.

"I guess we have missed each other. I don't know though. We haven't talked much this summer, and not because I haven't tried. Plus, you know how girls are...always moody and talking about other guys."

"_She's just trying to make you jealous, socio. Women, huh? You should come to Miami, bro. The girls here are _hot_!" _Alex replied. Matthew had quickly learned that Alex had few interests—baseball, ice cream, girls, and an occasional book just about covered the spectrum for the friendly Cuban. Matthew imagined Alex to be a typical guy's guy, and he was exactly right in his assessment. Matthew also was of the opinion that if they'd met in person first, rather than through e-mail, they would have never become friends. Guys like Alex didn't really give guys like Matthew a chance. Friendly as Alex was, Matthew worried once they met in person, Alex would lose interest in talking to him.

The thought saddened him. Alex's company had been the highlight of his summer.

"So are you jealous of me? My friend's birthday party is going to be huge—I think famous people are going!" Matthew boasted slightly. Alex just chuckled.

"_So what? I already know the coolest guy there. Hey, you ever gonna send me a picture?" _Alex requested. Matthew frowned and surfed to his personal page, where a series of photos of himself with his friends from the year before decorated the available space. Matthew didn't like any of them. He didn't really like photos period, and he always thought he looked like a girl in them. The ones where he posed with Alfred were especially bad—the other boy looked muscular and tan while he just looked soft-spoken and effeminate.

"I already told you I don't have any decent ones. I really hate photos of myself," Matthew said quietly. Where Alfred would have whined until he gave the other boy what he wanted, and Francis would have berated him for his low self-confidence, Alex tried to see it from Matthew's perspective.

"_I hear ya. I didn't really like photos of myself either till I decided to stop worrying so much about being a fatass and just live my life. Beautiful people aren't the only ones allowed to have fun!" _Alex replied. Alex made such comments often, and it led Matthew to believe the other boy didn't have super high self-confidence either, though he was clearly working on it. Still, after being surrounded by good looking friends that were all special in tons of different ways, Matthew enjoyed talking to someone who wasn't so perfect and didn't think of themselves as such.

"Yeah, I was supposed to work out some this summer, but I've just been inside all the time. My friend got to go to this really cool football camp with pro players, though," Matthew said.

"_Sounds like your best friend is rich,"_ Alex replied.

"I guess. He's not spoiled or anything," Matthew defended.

"_So tell me more about your friends. You don't really talk about them much," _Alex said. Matthew shook his head, a bit at a loss as to how to describe his crazy friends.

"They're really...something. I don't know. I guess they're all just larger than life, you know? I'm just the boring one," Matthew said softly.

"_Hey, don't talk about my coolest friend like that! I don't care if your friends are all rich and famous—I already know I like you best," _Alex reassured. _"These friends of yours take good care of you, right? They're not jerks, are they?" _

"No way! They might not be great at keeping in touch, but my friends are the only people who really see me. Before them, I was kind of just...invisible."

"_Then I can't wait to meet them,"_ Alex replied jovially. Inwardly, Matthew winced. He didn't know how a meeting between his new friend and his old friends would go. Of course, he hoped Alex would fit right in, but Alex wasn't really like any of his old crowd. He wasn't good looking, or famous, or rich—in fact, he seemed to have disdain for people of that sort in a general sense. As normal as his friends seemed to him, there was no denying that they were all wealthy, two were royals, one was a famous model, and two of them were tied up in the Russian mafia.

It made his head spin when he thought about it in such a way, so Matthew tried to think of them only as he knew them—crazy, wonderful, unpredictable teenage boys.

"_So you nervous about this party?"_ Alex asked. Matthew wanted to reply that he was, most definitely, but then a client came in and Matthew had to hastily hang up the phone. He didn't know what to expect from Alfred after his friend had become an even bigger star over the summer, but he hoped things hadn't changed too much.

* * *

><p>Matthew arrived in the American capital after a fairly short plane ride. He'd texted Alfred to see if his friend could pick him up from the airport, but like so many of his messages, he received no response. He complained in an uncharacteristic bout of irritation to Alex about it over the phone, but then decided Alfred was likely busy and might not even have his phone on him. He felt guilty for getting upset in the first place, but Alex assured him that if he'd been arriving in Miami, Alex would have personally been there to make sure he got to his hotel safely. Matthew's irritation with Alfred had disappeared almost as quickly as it came, but Alex was less than impressed by his behavior and didn't hesitate to say so.<p>

"_Some best friend. Just because you can get a taxi for yourself doesn't mean it's okay for him to bail on you. What? Is he too important to do a favor for a friend? I know you've avoided saying who your friend is, so I get the feeling he's somebody big, but to me he just sounds like an asshole," _Alex argued. As Matthew struggled to escape the crowd of travelers at the airport with all his luggage, desperately wishing Alfred was there to help him, he was inclined to agree. Maybe for security reasons Alfred couldn't come to an airport, but he could have sent someone, right?

Matthew spotted an information kiosk and hung up with Alex to seek out a number for a taxi service. He managed that and was feeling a little proud of himself until the taxi driver took him to the wrong part of town (different street, same name) and Matthew was too ignorant about the area to correct him. He was way overcharged for the taxi service by the time the confusion was sorted out and he reached his hotel, and his annoyance with Alfred had only increased.

Finally, _finally_, he got a text from Alfred asking him if he'd stay at his hotel that night seeing as Alfred was busy reuniting with Arthur. Had Alfred been better about helping him arrive, he probably wouldn't have had any issues with Alfred wishing to spend his first few days all over Arthur, but his total dismissal at the airport already had Matthew annoyed. As was fast becoming habit, it was Alex he called.

"I'm at my hotel finally—"

"_You sure you're safe?"_ Alex demanded. Matthew was a little distracted from his irritation by the protectiveness in Alex's voice. It made him feel just a little bit better to know at least _someone_ cared.

"I'm fine, Alex. Alfred just asked me not to come over tonight. I guess he's busy with Arthur," Matthew said. There was a long pause and Matthew finally realized his slip of the tongue.

"_I kind of suspected, but it's hard to believe, socio. Alfred Jones is your best friend?" _

"Err...yeah. Does that make things weird?" Matthew asked nervously, pacing the floor of his tidy little hotel room. His Cuban friend, however, was already starting in on a rather hot-blooded rant. Alex definitely had a temper, something Matthew had learned quickly in their friendship. It didn't take much to get Alex stirred up, though Alex's anger was never directed at Matthew. Strangely enough, Matthew didn't worry that it every would be. Somehow, even though they'd never met in person, Alex made Matthew feel the way Alfred had in the first week of school, when the bullies had terrified him and Alfred had been just another misfit determined to protect him.

"_So what? Pretty boy's too good to get his friend at the airport? Too high and mighty to hang out with you after blowing you off all summer?" _Alex rapidly switched to Spanish and Matthew just sighed softly. There was no stopping him now. After a good ten minutes, he finally began to wind down.

"I was right. You don't like Alfred," Matthew said.

"_Generally speaking, I think guys like him are...what's the word?"_

"Tools?" Matthew offered helpfully.

"_Yeah! Just because some stupid ass eleven year old girls freak out over his haircut and his lame tweets—"_

"He's not like that. I mean, it looks like that, but he wasn't always a model. He went through a really bad awkward phase, so he's not—"

"_He's a shitty friend, socio. Fame gets to people like that. Look, I just don't want you to get hurt when you see him at school and he's different. Because he will be different. Whatever kid you knew last year is gone—I've seen that guy all over the tabloids. He's nothing but a spoiled, whiny, brainless idiot. All he's missing is the reality television show." _

"Alex, you don't even know him," Matthew said tiredly. Alex, however, just mumbled something uncharitable sounding in Spanish. He switched to English for Matthew's convenience.

"_I was willing to give him a chance until he treated you like crap and knows you'll take it because for whatever reason, you think you're lucky to have him as a friend. Truth is, socio, it's the other way around. He's lucky to have you. He's stupid if he doesn't realize it," _Alex declared. Matthew sat weakly on the end of his bed, finding it impossible to remain annoyed with Alex when he said such supportive things.

"I don't know what will happen with Alfred this year, but I promise I won't stick around if he's a total jerk now. I know I can make new friends, thanks to you," Matthew said gently. Alex, however, wasn't appeased yet.

"_That goes for that girl of yours, too. If she treats you like crap, you don't need her either." _

Matthew ignored the little voice that reminded him Francis hadn't contacted him for nearly three days.

"Okay," Matthew said timidly. Just the idea of confronting Francis and Alfred about their neglectful behavior made him want to hide under his bed covers, but in his heart, Matthew knew that Alex was right. He couldn't expect his best friend and boyfriend to value him if he didn't value himself.

"It's been a long night, Alex. I'm going to go to bed," Matthew said with a tired yawn. Alex echoed his yawn just a second later.

"_Night, socio. Remember—they're the lucky ones. I'm pretty damn lucky, too," _Alex said with unwavering certainty. It almost made Matthew tear up. Blaming his stressful flight and arrival, Matthew quietly said his goodbyes and put himself to bed early. He'd face the Alfred situation (if there even was a situation) in the morning, with a clear head.

**A/N: **Ugh. I dragged myself through this chapter, and I really hope it doesn't show. It's not that I've lost interest in the story, but I'm working two jobs again and I had a new relationship going for a few weeks (didn't work out) so I'm totally burned out and not really in the mood to write love stories. They're all going to break up and eat too much ice cream and cry in the next chapter. You've been warned.

On the bright side, I've got some vacation time coming up and it usually only takes a day or so of relaxation before I feel compelled to start writing. Thanks for sticking with me, and for giving such wonderful feedback on the last chapter! Again, if this one is full of errors and totally sucks...well...I tried my best. Sorry guys.


	4. Cheating Heart

**Chapter 4**

The Fourth of July did not merely happen in America—it exploded. Arthur had made numerous state-side trips, but none of them had been during Independence Day, a fact for which he was now grateful. Perhaps it was because he was staying at the American capital, but Arthur was a little overwhelmed.

"It's my birthday! Woohoo! Yeah!" Alfred shouted, as he took a massive running leap and cannon-balled into the enormous pool in his stripes and stars swim shorts. These swim trunks matched his American flag T-shirt, his red, white and blue flip-flops, his patriotic baseball cap, and his beach bag, which was essentially an American flag in bag form. All of _that_ matched the Fourth of July themed desserts that weighted down the table (also decorated with a plastic flag-inspired table cloth). The disposable plates were Independence Day themed, and all the guests to the morning pool party (a family-only celebration for Alfred's birthday) were dressed in similar apparel to Alfred and his parents. Then there was the massive birthday cake complete with "fireworks" candles and sparklers, the burgers being grilled in the shape of stars by the President himself, and the constant blaring of obnoxiously aggressive country songs wherein the singer boasted about America kicking other countries' arses.

"It's very...patriotic, eh?" Matthew commented with a small grin. Matthew and Arthur, the only two friends of Alfred's that had been allowed to attend his family birthday party, sought refuge from the decorations near the drink table. That was patriotic-themed, too, but at least they weren't constantly getting splashed from the swimmers or pestered by Alfred's little cousins who crowded around the food table with sticky, chubby fingers.

"It's ridiculous. Is that an ice sculpture of Uncle Sam they're bringing in over there? Why is his arm bent so oddly like that?" Arthur asked in disbelief. Matthew squinted and nodded.

"Yeah, that's Uncle Sam. And look—there's an ice eagle. I guess the ice eagle sits on his arm."

"Of _course_ he does. Blimey. You think if I spill the punch bowl on the sound system to stop this god-awful music anyone will notice?" Arthur asked. One of Alfred's aunts waltzed by with a foam hat that made her look vaguely like the Statue of Liberty.

"Smile boys!" Despite the fact that neither boy had time to muster up an awkward smile, she snapped the photo.

"Oh god, here he comes. If he wants me to sing karaoke with him to the Star Spangled Banner again I'm going to strangle myself in the paper streamers," Arthur warned. Matthew snickered and then Alfred was filling their vision, dripping wet and grinning from ear to ear.

"Isn't this awesome? And it's just starting! It's gonna go all day!" Alfred enthused. Arthur smiled in a fake, pacifying sort of way.

"It's lovely, dear," Arthur said drolly. Alfred winked at Matthew conspiratorially.

"I'm sensing sarcasm, which is not allowed on the most awesome day of the year. I think it's time to defeat the British all over again. I'm throwing you in the pool!"

Arthur, who hadn't planned to swim and was dressed crisply in linen trousers and a tailored dress shirt, narrowed his eyes in warning.

"You wouldn't dare," he growled. Alfred just grinned and then turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out for his pack of howler monkeys/younger cousins.

"Ricky! Haley! Andrew!"

"Run, Arthur!" Matthew advised, but it was too late. The little hoard of children flocked to their leader and Arthur was trapped under the tackle of their wet bodies. The adults laughed at their antics even while Arthur screamed bloody murder. With the help of his minions (who loved Alfred, of course) Arthur was hoisted into the air and tossed into the pool. Little Ricky made this defeat all the worse by arming himself with a massive water gun and pelting Arthur with it as soon as he surfaced.

"Alright, time for cake!" Helen announced, looking a little tipsy already, despite it only being ten in the morning. It was mostly Richard's family in attendance, as on Helen's side, all she had left was her aging father since her mother had passed away two years before. The President's side alone brought the total number of guests to around fifty. Richard had four brothers and two sisters, who all had children of various ages. Helen's father had come, too. The hotel mogul was there with his twenty-four year old, glamorous Californian girlfriend, talking on his cell phone and scowling at the children that got too close and threatened whatever project was displayed on his expensive laptop. Arthur managed to drag himself out of the pool like a drowned rat. Matthew helpfully offered him an American flag colored towel.

"I'm leaving," he ground out in pure annoyance. Matthew winced and offered a sheepish smile.

"You can't miss cake! Come on, Arthur...just look at him. Sure it's loud and obnoxious and really, really tacky, but I don't think I've ever seen him look so happy."

And as much as Arthur hated to admit it, Matthew was right. Surrounded by his family from all over the country, the center of attention, a massive pile of presents and a huge cake awaiting him and, for once, his parents focused solely on him, Alfred was gloriously happy. There were no other words for it.

"I suppose I'll stay...only because he'll notice if I leave now," Arthur grumbled. He irritably wrapped up in the towel and hummed along tunelessly to the birthday song. He supposed it was a _little_ cute the way that Alfred hoisted up the littlest cousin in his arms and let her blow out his candles, and the way the other children clearly saw Alfred as their hero for the day. He was a constant source of piggy back rides, cannon-ball splashes, and corny jokes. Alfred was served a massive slice of cake by his paternal grandmother, who fussed over how big he was getting and squeezed his cheek adoringly. She and Alfred's grandfather had flown in from Florida for the occasion.

"We're seventeen now. I feel like we're getting old," Matthew joked. Arthur nodded.

"I forgot to ask. How was your flight last night?" Arthur queried. Matthew frowned a little.

"The flight was alright, but I thought Alfred would send somebody for me at the airport. My cab driver got lost and it was hard managing all my bags," Matthew said. It was not in his nature to complain, but in truth, he was still a little annoyed.

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I didn't know you were flying in last night, else I would have come to help. Alfred's family was arriving and it was chaos here. That's why you couldn't just stay at the White House. I think they've actually filled up every room. I'm afraid I got a bit...snippy...with Alfred for not telling me about this family party, and our spat distracted him from your texts until it was too late."

Matthew felt a little better knowing it had not been an intentional snub, and that Alfred and Arthur had been fighting—not having fun without him.

"It's okay. Now that I've met the family, I think I'm much happier at the hotel," Matthew said with a smile. Arthur groaned upon realizing his stay at the White House was going to be a constant barrage of people and parties.

"Can I come crash with you?" he asked.

"Nope! You're his boyfriend—gotta stand by your man and all that, eh? And speaking of, there's the text from Francis. He's just arrived. I'm going to go meet him," Matthew said.

"Alright. I'll let Alfred know why you slipped out. If you don't hear from me in an hour, they've likely tried to revolt again and I'm suffering unspeakable tortures."

"Sounds like good fun. Happy Fourth of July!" Mattie chirruped.

"Oh, shut it!" Arthur growled. Just then, Alfred's grandmother shoved a plateful of cake under Arthur's nose. "No thank you, madam, but I—"

"Eat up! No grandchild of mine will walk around looking so underfed!"

"I beg your pardon, but I'm not underfed...and I'm not one of your grandchildren," Arthur said primly. The old, batty woman retracted the cake and squinted at him from behind her zany colored reading glasses.

"Oh! Well can't blame you for not eating much. That son of mine didn't cook the meat well enough. We're all gonna get salmonella. I gotta take the blame though; I voted for him—twice! That's a little Florida humor for you. Here, eat your cake, pumpkin."

Left with no other choice, sopping wet and captured in an American flag towel, Arthur was forced to have his cake and eat it, too. He was starting to _seriously_ dislike the Fourth of July, and it wasn't even noon yet.

* * *

><p>Finally, <em>finally<em>, Yao stepped out of the foreign taxi in front of the quaint little home in the suburbs that Nikolai had secured for his family. It was a short commute from the house to the World Academy campus, and Yao assumed he and Ivan would spend most of their time at the house when they were not in class.

"Don't bother to unload your bags. I'll send the taxi on to a hotel near the school," Ivan said. They'd been having the same argument since they left Russia, with Ivan insisting that they were broken up and that Yao needed to go back to doing whatever it was he did before he fell in love with Ivan.

Of course, it was a ridiculous suggestion, and even Sofia agreed with him.

"Ivan, you can not send him off alone. Papa has entrusted you to take care of us—_all_ of us," Sofia said. While normally the busty girl was friendly and sweet, after the horrid plane ride with the baby, she had become snappy and moody. Ivan realized he'd been railroaded and dismissed the waiting taxi driver with a wave of his hand. He carried Yao and Natalia's bags up the front sidewalk, and fished for the key in his pocket. He unlocked the door for his jet-lagged, emotionally exhausted family and let them inside.

Showing new energy, Natalia raced into the house to claim her bedroom. Ivan kicked her out of the master and then she raced upstairs to claim another. Sofia took a spacious upstairs room next to the furnished nursery and proceeded to feed Raivis and tuck him into bed. He cried a few moments, but finally passed out in a deep, quiet slumber. A collective sigh of relief echoed from everyone and they retreated into their bedrooms to sleep, uncaring that it was the middle of the day.

No sooner had Yao's head hit the pillow when Ivan's phone began to buzz with incoming text messages.

"Ignore them," Yao said. Ivan, however, rolled over and peered at his phone.

"It's Alfred's birthday today. Wants to drink later," Ivan said sleepily.

"Tell him some other time," Yao ordered. Ivan, however, quite liked the idea of going out drinking later and texted Alfred back that he was sleeping now, but would be up in a bit and could sneak out. Oblivious, Yao was down for the count. Ivan couldn't sleep. His mind rolled with thoughts of Yao, his former enemy and now adopted son, and his sisters.

He worried, too, for his father.

Finally giving up, Ivan got out of bed and took his phone with him into the kitchen. They would need groceries. He found his wallet in his suitcase, grabbed the house keys, and started walking to the gas station he'd seen at the entrance to the neighborhood. It was nearly three in the afternoon, and everywhere he looked, American families were out in their yards, grilling burgers and visiting with family. It was safe and wholesome. Each cookie cutter house looked utterly unremarkable. The neighborhood stretched for miles in such a fashion—no character or history, just track housing as far as the eye could see: the American dream.

Ivan thought of home, and the crime, and the smoke shop he liked to visit, and the places of surprising beauty found around unsuspecting street corners. Russia was as unique as she was cold, as splendid as she was soiled. For the first time ever, Ivan felt home sick and utterly out of place. He stopped in the side walk and scowled down at an unassuming lawn gnome. Seeing nobody was around, Ivan gave it a firm kick and sent its plastic head sailing across the perfectly manicured lawn.

He called his father. The phone rang twice and then his father picked up. He sounded as he always did—calm and collected.

"We've landed," Ivan said in Russian.

"_Good. Your sisters are safe? The neighborhood is good?" _his father asked.

"Yes, Papa, it is good. Quiet. Safe."

"_Zakhar is leaving China to come watch over you. He will arrive in a few days and stay with your sisters when you cannot be there." _

"You have protected us well, Papa. I...I am sorry," Ivan said, his voice breaking slightly.

"_Do not apologize. Never apologize. If you make a choice, you must stand by it like a man." _

"I hate hiding while you fight our enemies alone!" Ivan replied hotly.

"_There will not be much more fighting. We have mostly lost. It is almost done," _Nikolai spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. No doubt, he meant it to be calming, but it was not.

"The fighting is never done. You taught me that," Ivan replied.

"_There is a good chance I will not survive this week, Ivan." _

Ivan glanced back down the street, to the nice, neat house where his family now lived, as safe as Nikolai could make them, essentially in hiding. Ivan was not stupid. He could put the pieces together. His homosexuality had cost his father respect, and in fighting to regain that respect, his father had gone too far. The Braginski family would no longer be a powerful force in Russia. Due to sending so many of his numbers to China to protect Yao's family, his father was now weakened and alone. His branch in China might still thrive, but those relatives and recruits could never return to Russia.

"_Your education is secure at World Academy. It is now incredibly important that you graduate and become a good provider. In getting you all permanently established in America, I have exhausted our family fortune. Your sisters will go to college. Raivis will attend World Academy when it is his time." _

"You should have told me it was crumbling. I wouldn't have left you," Ivan said. He hated the sunshine blasting down on him. He hated the neat little rows of houses. He hated that thousands of miles away, his father was living on borrowed time and that it was mostly his fault. He hated that he now had to step up and provide for what was left of his broken little family.

"_The Galante family has more power and resources now. You _must_ be on guard, Ivan." _

"I will be."

"_Goodbye, Ivan." _

"Goodbye, Papa," Ivan said hollowly. The line went dead and he knew his father would be dead soon, too. With nothing else to do, he went to buy groceries from the gas station.

USUKUS

Matthew waited dutifully at the airport gate, ready to surprise Francis. In the rush of excitement to see him again, he was willing to forgive all the ignored calls and unanswered texts. If he could just _see_ him again, and kiss him, and have Francis look him in the eyes and tell him how loved he was, then it would be so much easier to forget all about his horrible summer.

Passengers began to stream off the plane and Matthew waited eagerly. He thought he saw Francis, disembarking behind a tall, leggy tan girl with dark hair and beautiful features. The girl turned backwards to say something to _his_ boyfriend, her hand casually landing on his shoulder as they laughed about something. Hastily, Matthew ducked behind a nearby pillar and peeked around. He could just barely hear their conversation.

"...this is it, then?" the girl said.

"I'm afraid so, _la belle_," Francis replied. Matthew grit his teeth. The girl replied and Matthew didn't quite catch what she said. Something about meeting up and dinner. He heard World Academy mentioned.

"It's like you said—I feel like fate put us on this plane together," she said. Matthew could hear them clearly now. They stood just a few feet away, still oblivious to his presence.

"It was truly surprising how much we share in common. I look forward to our friendship this next year," Francis replied. Matthew tried to calm down. _Friendship_. Friendship was good.

"Just friendship?" the beautiful girl asked, and Matthew imagined that she was leaning closer to Francis, likely suggestively.

"I told you I have a boyfriend...one who is very insecure, I might add," Francis said, as if Matthew were a burden.

"Then what your insecure boyfriend doesn't know won't hurt him, no?" Matthew peeked around the pillar to see the girl slant her full lips over those of his boyfriend, who was neither stopping her nor pushing her away. Matthew felt hot tears on his cheeks.

"That should not have happened," Francis said, when they parted.

"But it did...and you liked it. Just think about it. I'll see you around school, Francis," the girl purred, before sauntering off. Matthew began to panic, wanting to escape the airport without Francis realizing what he'd seen, but unable to force his body into action. Francis walked closer, and Matthew held his breath. His gorgeous boyfriend walked past him, heading towards baggage claim, and didn't even see him.

Matthew rubbed away his tears, wondering why that simple fact surprised him so much. All his life he'd been like a ghost. Unseen. Unappreciated.

"No more," Matthew vowed. He was sick of never standing out, of never being special. Somehow, he'd make Francis regret what he'd done. Feeling depressed, Matthew flipped his phone open and called Alex.

"_Hey man! What's happening?" _

"I'm at the airport. Alex...I have something to tell you."

"_You can tell me anything, bro,"_ Alex reassured. He could sense how upset his friend was, and he wondered if this had something to do with Alfred Jones.

"I'm gay, Alex." Matthew exhaled. He waited for the awkwardness. Instead, Alex quickly replied.

"_Yeah, I pretty much figured that out, socio." _

"Wait...how?" Mattie asked. Did he even _sound_ gay?

"_Well, Jones is always going on about gay rights and how all his friends are gay and proud and whatever. Plus, you slipped up once and said boyfriend instead of girlfriend."_

"Why didn't you call me on it?" Matthew asked. He could practically hear Alex shrug.

"_You weren't ready to tell me yet. I knew I wasn't going anywhere. I could wait—not that it's a big deal or anything. But hey, socio, you don't sound so good. What happened?" _Alex demanded. Matthew felt his defenses crumbling. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I came to surprise my b-boyfriend at the airport. He got off the plane t-talking to this beautiful girl and she k-kissed him, and they talked about meeting up again. He said he had a boyfriend, but he didn't discourage her. He certainly didn't push her away! The flirting has gone _too_ far this time. I'm done with this!"

"_You should be, Matt. Want me to kick his ass?" _

"N-no...but thanks," Matthew replied. "I want...I want to make him regret losing me. I want him to be jealous for once!"

"_Okay...okay...you know what? I'm coming to that party with you. I'm gonna get my flight changed, but I don't have the money for a hotel till school starts." _

Matthew was surprised that he really, really wanted Alex in D.C. with him.

"Don't worry about that. I have a hotel booked till the move-in date at the dorms next week. You can just stay with me. Are you really going to come early?" Matthew asked, finding it hard to believe that Alex would go to so much trouble for his sake.

"_Hell yeah I'm coming. It's only a two and a half hour flight. You go get something hot to wear to the party till I can get there, alright?" _Alex said.

Matthew felt like his emotions were on a roller coaster, but he found himself smiling broadly as he hung up the phone. Francis called nearly as soon as the phone was away from his ear.

Hesitating only a moment, Matthew forwarded the call to voicemail. He'd show up to the party with Alex without giving Francis any head's up. Even if he wasn't dating Alex, Francis would still see him having a good time and not thinking about him at all. He knew Francis would probably be over him in a second and on to somebody new, but all that mattered to Matthew was that he spend the evening with someone who actually _saw_ him.

Matthew left the airport and hailed a taxi. He asked to go to the nearest mall. Once there, he shopped until he found an outfit that really made all his best features stand out. Throwing his old clothes into the shopping bags, he headed back to the airport with enough time to get a late lunch before Alex's flight landed at five.

Francis, Arthur, and even Alfred were texting him now, but Matthew pointedly ignored all their calls. After all, they'd ignored him all summer. Now, all Matthew wanted to do was wait for the one boy who hadn't forgotten about him.

Matthew realized that he was waiting for two guys at the airport on the same day. Obviously, he hoped Alex's arrival would go more smoothly than Francis's had. This time, Matthew stood proudly out in the open. Despite only seeing one picture of Alex, Matthew spotted him instantly. What was even better, Alex spotted him, too, with no photos to guide him. Matthew took a few steps forward, an excited smile on his face, and laughed when Alex barreled up to him and actually lifted him off the ground his hug was so huge.

"You're suffocating me!" Matthew complained with a big smile. Alex released him and just grinned at him for a long time.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, _socio_! I can't wait! This is gonna be the best year ever—just you and me," Alex declared. Matthew grinned when Alex casually dropped his arm over his shoulders as they walked towards baggage claim. "Come on, Matt. I'm having ice-cream withdrawals. We'll get some of the good stuff, head to the hotel, and you can tell me all about this asshole."

"Okay...that actually sounds really, really good. Alex?" Mattie said.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

"Don't thank me, Matt. It's what a friend should do. We're gonna eat till we bust and do whatever you wanna do tonight. You wanna go to the party? We'll go. You want me to take you out? We can do that, too," Alex offered. He gave Matthew's shoulder a squeeze and then removed his arm. He was just as Matthew had thought he'd be. His skin was dark and perfectly tanned. He had fairly long, black dreads, swept up into a pony tail behind his head. He was a little husky, but not fat by any means, and to put it simply, he made Matthew feel very safe. He looked like he'd done a lot of hard labor as a young man, and though the downtime in Miami had softened him somewhat, he still looked like a teen who knew how to take care of business. Being so pale and slender, Matthew was practically the other boy's exact opposite in just about everything physical.

Just then, Matthew's phone rang again and Matthew nervously stared at the caller. Grinning, Alex snatched the phone and answered it.

"_Hola_ _pipucho_," Alex greeted. Matthew's eyes were wide.

"_I think I have the wrong number,"_ Francis replied confusedly.

"No, you trying to reach Matt?"

"_Um...yes?"_ Francis replied, starting to sound annoyed. _"Who are you?"_

"He's busy right now sucking—"

"Oh my gosh!" Matthew squealed, grabbing the phone and shutting it quickly.

"What? You're sucking on a mint," Alex said with a shit-eating grin. Matthew crunched the breath mint in his mouth (he didn't want bad breath when he met Alex) and swallowed it with a gulp.

The phone rang again. This time it was Alfred.

"Oh _please_ let me answer that," Alex begged. Matthew held on to his phone tightly.

"No. Look, when I tell him what happened, he'll be a good friend about it, too. Alfred's not as terrible as you think."

"Then answer. Let's see what he does," Alex said.

"But it _is_ his birthday, so—"

"Just answer."

Matthew sighed and flipped the phone open.

"Hey Alfred," he said glumly.

_"Mattie! Bro! Where are you? Francis is here but didn't you go to pick him up? He says he called you and some creepy Mexican answered!"_

"He's Cuban, actually," Matthew said with a sigh. Alex grinned and went about getting his luggage.

_"Have you been kidnapped? Are you hurt? I've been watching all the news about the drug towns on the border, and if he's dragging you to Mexico, I'm going to save you. Don't worry! Just hang tight and don't drink the water, and if he says he needs a mule, he's not talking about the cute furry ones you ride, he's talking about shoving drugs up your ass.__"_

"Alfred, that's disgusting. Just _listen_ to me Alfred—"

_"And it's totally not cool that he's kidnapping you and making you be a drug mule on my birthday!"_

"ALFRED. Francis cheated on me!"

_"...what?"_ Alfred said, finally calming down.

"So Alex, a friend of mine _from _Cuba, which is not the same place as Mexico, flew in early to cheer me up," Matthew said.

_"Oh. How'd you meet him?"_ Alfred asked, sounding paranoid.

"I met him through the World Academy penpal program."

_"That's cool, I guess. So...are you guys coming to my party?"_ Alfred asked. Matthew couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that the party was all Alfred cared about.

"I don't know. I'm kinda upset, Al," Matthew said. Alex looked at him knowingly so Matthew turned around and hid his distress from Alex. "I know you're busy today, Al, but—"

_"I warned you about him from the start, Mattie. I told you Francis was a manwhore. He flirts around all the time. Does the fact that he took it past that really surprise you?"_

Matthew felt tears well up in his eyes and he brushed at them absently.

"It _did_ surprise me. I thought...I thought he loved me more than that," Matthew half-whispered.

"Mattie...just don't get too down about this. It's not worth it, okay? He's not worth it. Just come to the party and have a good time, okay?" Alfred suggested. Matthew scowled. If it was Arthur who had cheated on Alfred, the other boy would be devastated, but because Francis was flirtatious, it made sense that he'd cheated? Matthew closed his phone without saying goodbye.

Matthew turned slowly, phone clutched in his hand.

"Aw, come here, _socio,_" Alex said as he extended an arm. Matthew buried gratefully into the other boy's side, crying heavily on his shoulder.

"Forget them. Let's go to the hotel."

"Okay," Matthew sniffled.

Back at the hotel, Matthew hastily took off the sexy (but uncomfortable) clothes. He traded them in for a T-shirt with a maple leaf and a pair of pajama pants that Francis always sneered at when he wore them.

"Oh good, so you _do_ own normal clothes," Alex joked with a friendly smile. "I was starting to feel like a bum." In his cargo shorts and bright, tropical shirt Matthew thought Alex looked just fine. The laid-back non-fussy clothing suited him. They had bought ice cream in the hotel lobby, and now Matthew fetched the maple syrup.

"Canadian ice cream, remember?" he said with a smile. Alex grinned.

"Hit me up, _socio_! Let's see if we can't find a good game. Yeah...here we go...you know these teams?" Alex asked. Matthew glanced at the screen, where a rather intense looking hockey game was playing out. He understood the basics, but he'd never really followed a team before.

"Not really, but let's watch anyway." They ate their ice cream and found the conversation flowed just as well in person as it did on the phone. Matthew told Alex what he'd seen at the airport and Alex commiserated with him about a girl that had cheated on him in the past.

It was nearly ten before there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Alex offered. He opened the door to see royalty.

"Arthur?" Matthew asked, peering around Alex, surprised to see the British boy there.

"Hello, Matthew. I'm sorry about what happened. I would have come sooner, but it was rather difficult to find your hotel room."

"Oh...sorry...come in," Matthew said.

"Hello. I'm Arthur," the blond said, extending his hand politely to Alex. Looking a little uncomfortable, Alex shook his hand.

"_Hola_. I'm Alex."

"A pleasure," Arthur said. The neatly dressed blond stood in the now messy hotel room looking very out of place. The fun, relaxed environment of just seconds before vanished. For a long second, they three of them just stood their uncomfortably before Matthew recovered from his surprise.

"Uh, have a seat! We're just...um...pigging out and watching hockey."

"I can see that. Looks fun. You made the better choice to stay in. The party at Alfred's has been something of a nightmare." Arthur sat gracefully, his legs crossing. Alex flopped onto the mattress, not speaking much in the other boy's presence.

"Did Francis...I mean...I know you two are close..." Matthew said unsurely.

"I've heard his side of the story, yes. I had to accompany him to the emergency room."

"What?" Matthew said, startled.

"Alfred broke his nose after he spoke with you on the phone. I've convinced Francis not to press charges...just barely. I must apologize for Alfred's behavior. After the party this morning, his family started drinking beers and wine coolers and Alfred has been buzzed all afternoon. He's been a bit hard to manage. Just as all his celebrity friends started arriving, he caused the scene with Francis and then he got a call from Ivan—no idea what it was about—but he said it was crucial he go see him. I was a bit wary to let him go, but I had to go with Francis to get his nose looked at so I sent him off with a driver. I suppose Helen is handling the party."

"...wow," Mattie said. "I bet you're really pissed, huh?" Matthew confirmed. Arthur gave a restrained, though very fake smile.

"You could say that. He hasn't answered my calls so I don't have the foggiest idea where he and Ivan went. It likely involves more alcohol, which is really the last thing my idiot boyfriend needs."

"So...he punched Francis...for me?" Matthew said. Arthur sighed.

"I suppose. The two of them got into a rather heated argument that started with you, but at some point turned into Alfred's lingering bitterness over the fact that Francis and I dated, which is ridiculous, but he was drunk so..."

"So then Alfred punched him?"

"Actually, Francis said he had a small penis and _then_ Alfred punched him."

"Oh. That sounds...really stupid," Matthew said. Alex snorted in a dry, sarcastic sort of way.

"Tell me about it. If I were you, I wouldn't speak to either of them for quite some time. They've both been utter prats. Again, I apologize for not helping you at the airport and I'm sorry I can't stay very long now. I'm not entirely sure what happened between you and Francis, but I'm fairly certain, whatever it was, that it was Francis's fault. I'm glad you've got a friend in town, though. I'm going to attempt to track down Alfred...before he and Ivan end up in prison."

"Sorry I caused so much trouble," Matthew said weakly. Alex scowled.

"None of this is your fault, Matt! Your boyfriend cheated on you and your best friend is acting a drunk fool instead of having your back!"

"Alex! Arthur is Alfred's—"

"Matthew, there's no need. Trust me, your friend can make no disparaging remark about Alfred that I have not already thought about him at least twelve times tonight. We are in perfect agreement about his complete idiocy. I will say this, though. He's gone through a lot of changes this summer, Matthew. He's struggling to adjust, but I promise the Alfred we all know and love is still there. He's just...confused right now. He needs some time and a sensible routine. You know how poorly he does when he's not given structure."

"Heh, yeah," Matthew agreed. He stood up to see Arthur out. At the last minute, he leaned in and gave the British boy a slightly awkward hug.

"Thanks for tracking me down, Arthur," he said. Arthur blushed slightly and cleared his throat.

"Oh, well, think nothing of it. You two have a nice night, and again, my most sincere apologies," Arthur said as he left. He waved at Alex. "It was a pleasure meeting you." Alex just nodded his head and smiled a bit. Once the door closed behind him, Alex chuckled in disbelief.

"Is he _always_ like that?" Alex asked. Matthew snickered a bit.

"I've seen him loosen up a little bit before...but for the most part, yeah. That's just...Arthur."

"I think his polo stick got caught up his ass. 'Good sir, I assure you that you can make no disparaging remarks...' Seriously, man? Who talks like that?"

Matthew laughed and flopped down on the messy bed, rummaging around for another bag of chips.

"He was trying to be nice," Matthew vouched. Alex shrugged with a smile.

"Yeah, he's not so bad. A little too stuffy for my tastes, but at least better than your loser boyfriend and your idiot best friend."

"Yeah, you are kinda an idiot," Matthew teased, sticking out his tongue. Alex pretended to be highly offended. He clutched at his heart, even though he was grinning ear to ear.

"You hurt me, Matt. You hurt me real bad. I'm gonna make 'disparaging remarks at least twelve times' about you now."

"Oh, shut it. Leave poor Arthur alone," Matthew said with a reluctant grin.

"Seriously, though, I'm glad at least one of your old friends is decent."

"They all used to be great. I guess people change, though," Matthew said sadly.

"Hey, if a friendship is good, it will stand the test of time. Now let's get back to the game—we missed a huge fight when Prince Tea and Crumpets was here."

Matthew rolled his eyes and smiled, realizing with a little bit of pride in himself that he didn't give a damn that Francis was alone with a broken nose at the moment. He had hockey game re-runs and Canadian ice cream and Alex. He didn't need Francis, and he didn't care if Francis needed him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So it got worse. My grandma died about a week ago now. I ruined a second relationship (less sad about that one ending, but still...) and I keep having these weird moments when I realize my grandma's not in the house anymore. It's pretty terrible.

Sooo...I read a bunch of your reviews, which _seriously_ cheered me up, and then I felt inspired to write again, and the family party scene came out of my brain and made me goofball happy because all of Alfred's extended family are the states! I named his little cousins after state governors, and his grandparents are from Florida, and I didn't really go super in depth but that's kinda what I was going for. Did you catch that line about there being "about 50" people in total? Yeah. And his grandma is kinda based off mine. She didn't live in Florida, but she was whacky and sweet and funny. I'm really going to miss her. All of that was probably too personal for an author's note, but I just wanted you guys to know why I've been slow and a little off my A game. :(

OH BUT WAIT! I almost forgot! Sen-chan made a trailer for _Invitational Year_. And it's awesome. Like, a super good fan video with some gorgeous art. The song is super catchy, too. So you guys should check it out. Go to you tube, and then search for "What Happened to Me?" Invitational Year. Thank you, Sen-chan!


	5. Friendship

**Chapter 5**

Francis could safely say he was at a low point in his life. He wasn't an idiot. He knew Matthew was a great person and that he was lucky to have him. For all his insecurities, Matthew was funny, sweet, affectionate and his very best friend. Of course, he was angry and hurt that some strange guy had answered his boyfriend's phone making sexual innuendo and implying that Matthew had done a bit of his own flirting over the summer, but now that the initial shock had worn off...Francis knew he sort of deserved it. He certainly hadn't made much time for Matthew over the summer, and letting Shell kiss him after the plane ride had definitely overstepped a line.

Francis's head was throbbing. _'Stupid ass Alfred,' _he thought bitterly. Francis knew Alfred had been just as distant with Matthew over the summer, so what right did he have to accuse him of being a bad boyfriend? Of course, according to Arthur, the idiot was drunk and not thinking clearly, but that wasn't much of an excuse in Francis's book for facial disfigurement. Alfred had been annoying since the very beginning. First he stole Matthew away, and then Arthur. Now he'd broken Francis's nose.

Francis prodded tenderly at his spectacularly smashed nose. What the hell was so great about Alfred Jones anyway?

"It's just the natural conclusion to a perfectly shitty summer. My parents divorce, my boyfriend ends our year long relationship via text message, and his moronic best friend breaks my fucking nose. Fantastic," Francis complained to the empty hotel room. He was almost to the point of drinking the contents of the hotel room's mini-fridge when there was a knock on his door.

Hoping it was Matthew, Francis hurried over only to slump in disappointment to see Arthur.

"Shove over, frog-face," Arthur said darkly, pushing his way into the room. He kicked off his shoes as he did so.

"Where the hell have you been?" Francis asked, relieved that at least one of his friends hadn't completely abandoned him.

"Searching in vain for Alfred. He went out with Ivan and all he would tell me was that Ivan needs a friend right now...whatever the hell that means. I've gone to all the local pubs and I can't find them anywhere. I'm exhausted and I don't want to go back to the White House because all of Alfred's pushy, obnoxiously loud family is in town. I can't stay with Matthew, either—he's got company."

Arthur wasn't prepared for his dose of brutal truth to cause Francis to start crying. The older teen tried to contain the tears and clearly didn't want Arthur to see, but he was most definitely crying as he turned his back to Arthur.

"Oh, bollocks. Stop that. I didn't walk in on them bagging off or anything. They were just watching a hockey game and hanging out. He didn't seem bent to me," Arthur consoled.

"He dumped me. Matthew's afraid to be alone so they have to be dating. Who is he? What does he look like? Is he sexier than me?"

"Francis...don't go there. Really, there's nothing you can do at this point except apologize for whatever it is you've done."

"I didn't _do_ anything!" Francis protested.

"Fine, then whatever it was you _didn't_ do," Arthur amended.

"Why is automatically my fault? He's flirted with someone else, too. He was all over Gilbert last year. We had a fucking threesome! But I can't talk to a pretty girl? It's stupid."

"He was at the airport. What might he have seen at the airport that upset him?" Arthur suggested. He was carelessly stripping down to his boxers and his undershirt, neatly folding his clothing and setting the garments on the chair.

For a moment, Francis's mind was blank and then it clicked. Shell had kissed him. Matthew must have seen. He must have heard Francis say he was insecure.

"_Merde_," Francis cursed. Arthur shook his head resignedly.

"Told you it was something you did," he said, rather unhelpfully. "But...I agree that your relationship is less than conventional, and it sounds like you have different definitions of what's right and wrong and what's allowed and what isn't. You could probably still work things out...if you really want to. Do you?" Arthur asked sharply. Francis shifted the ice bag on his nose and waited for the realization to hit him. He waited to feel relief that it was over, or sadness that Matthew was gone.

Instead, he just felt numb.

"I don't know. It all just seems stupid to me now."

"What seems stupid?" Arthur prompted, as he slipped under the covers neatly on one half of the bed.

"Trying to love someone. Trusting someone else not to hurt you...all of it...it just seems pointless," Francis said. With his back facing his old enemy and boyhood friend, Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You're being dramatic, Francis. Go to bed. Things will be clearer in the morning."

"You're shit at comforting someone, you know?" Francis replied with a scowl.

"Mm-hmm," Arthur replied, even as his eyes began to drift closed. "Better than being alone tonight," he added as an after-thought.

Francis shook his head pathetically when he realized he had to agree. Abandoning his ideas of getting smash-faced, Francis tossed his soggy ice bag onto the night stand and slipped under the covers.

"Rebound sex?" he suggested.

"Touch me and I'll punch your face in...more than it already is, at any rate."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"...G'night, Francis."

* * *

><p>Alfred shook his head in disbelief as he listened to Ivan recount his summer. He and Ivan weren't doing anything dangerous, like Arthur feared. They had walked around Ivan's new neighborhood a bit and eventually discovered a big creek along the back of the neighborhood, with forest beyond, and fireworks shooting off dully in the distance. They split a two-liter of coke from the gas station, contemplated the fireworks they'd bought, and sat in relative silence once Ivan finished telling his tale.<p>

"Why can't your dad just leave?" Alfred asked. Ivan took a swig of soda and wiped at his mouth with his broad forearm.

"No money left. He's used up all his favors to get us here. Too much pride to run."

"That just sucks. I'm sorry, man," Alfred said, accepting the coke.

"_Da_," Ivan agreed. He picked up a rock and threw it with startling force into the creek. It hit the muddy water below them with a satisfying _plonk_.

"And you have a kid now. Or your sister does? Whatever. It's still crazy."

"_Da_," Ivan agreed again.

"Hey...I've got a fun idea," Alfred said. Ivan just glanced at his American friend, without a clue about what to expect from him. Alfred stood up and stripped off his shirt, revealing perfectly sculpted abs.

Alfred flashed him a boyish grin. "What are you waiting for? Let's fight! Don't hold back!"

Ivan snorted. "You'recrazy."

"So what? That's why you like me. Come on. Not too scared, are you?"

"I'll destroy you," he threatened, standing up to stress his height advantage. Alfred sized him up even as he stretched his arms.

"Nah. You haven't done a damn thing over summer. You're fat. I can totally take you."

Ivan grinned in a creepy way that scared the shit out of just about everyone with the exception of Alfred.

"You're going to regret saying that," Ivan said with a genuine smile. He stripped off his own T-shirt, revealing years of scars across his chest. Not giving Alfred anymore time to prepare, he lunged forward and sent his massive fist sliding off Alfred's jaw. The American rolled into the punch and came back with one of his own. Sure, he'd hadn't fought as much as Ivan had, but Alfred was athletic and resilient. He actually had pretty good chances. Besides, Ivan had done little working out since he'd been shot the previous Christmas, while Alfred had been working hard all that time.

"Is that all you got?" Ivan asked mockingly, even though the punch actually hurt quite badly. Alfred grinned with a busted lip and watched him with bright, electric blue eyes.

"Just gave back what I got, you great big fucking fairy!" Alfred taunted. Ivan grinned wildly in delight and tackled the smaller teen, wrestling with him for dominance. It was harder than it might have once been to maintain his position, and they rolled like little boys around in the dirt, exchanging blows without intending to really do damage, shoving and scraping and taunting at each other until they were bruised and bloody and aching.

"I win!" Alfred huffed in triumph, though it was obvious there was no clear winner. Both of them had simply tired of the game.

"You didn't win, you dumb fuck," Ivan retorted, panting for air and wiping at a scrape on his shoulder. It had felt good to hit someone. His scratches stung and his muscles thrummed with adrenalin.

"Hey, let's go see if there are frogs or tadpoles down there. We can kill 'em with the fireworks," Alfred suggested. Already recovered from their play fighting, Alfred began making his way down the side of the rocky, slightly grassy embankment with the air of a boy on a mission, lighter and fireworks in hand. Shaking his head at his friend's childishness, but not-so-secretly enjoying it, Ivan hefted himself up and joined Alfred on his quest. Just for fun, he kicked at a portion of the rocky, mud wall and made Alfred's current pathway collapse in a large cloud of dust. The boy slid hard on his ass down the embankment, nearly landing in the water. Ivan had a good laugh at the look on Alfred's face and only barely dodged the handful of algae and stinky moss that Alfred pelted at him in retaliation.

"Fucker!" Alfred exclaimed. Some more fireworks went off in the distance.

"Give me one," Ivan requested, as he reached the bottom of the creek. To their left, a giant Oak tree towered over the creek and cast long shadows over the sluggishly moving water. Ivan picked the biggest firecracker from the bag and lit it without reading the instructions. He planted it in the dirt and took a few steps back, drinking deeply from the bottle of coke. It was almost empty.

The firework hissed and sparked before launching violently into the air. It shot across the water and impacted in the mud on the other side, popping in a shower of pyrotechnics.

"Badass!" Alfred said, grinning widely. The sweat glistened on his roughed up skin and a little blood was smeared on his chin. He looked like a man, and yet, something about him still suggested innocence. Ivan wondered what it was, but did not care enough to ponder it too long.

"Here," he said, tossing a package of sparklers to his friend. Alfred took them, complaining that they were lame, even while he lit them all at once with arsenic glee.

"Woohoo!" Alfred shouted, over the little pops and the massive cloud of colored smoke. He hastily spelled out 'Ivan Sucks!' in sparkler smoke and then tossed the burned out sticks into the water.

"It's deeper than I thought," Ivan remarked.

"Let's cool off!" Alfred suggested. Before Ivan could protest, Alfred had stripped off all his clothes and dived in. He surfaced and the water pooled around his belly button. Alfred tossed his head back and shook the water out of his hair. With a sigh, Ivan stripped too and waded in much more carefully. Naturally before they'd been in the water even a moment, Alfred was attempting to dunk Ivan, who gave as good as he got. They splashed around in the water, terrifying the fish, and then decided they needed fishing poles when they returned the next time.

"You're practically married now," Alfred said, grinning ear to ear. He sent a wave of water at Ivan, who scowled in annoyance. "_And_ you have a kid. Is it weird?"

"Of course it's fucking weird. What about you?" Ivan asked.

"What about me?" Alfred replied. He looked up at the stars, seeming to search for something, but then flopped back into the water with a big splash.

"You and Arthur still together?"

"Yep," Alfred replied. "Always and forever!"

"You're a sappy moron."

"Yeah...but he's so perfect. I was pretty dumb for not seeing it before, you know?"

"I'm going to puke if you keep going."

"I love his toes, and his smile, and the way he scrunches up his nose when he reads—"

"Now you're just making shit up. Shut the fuck up," Ivan grunted with a grin. Alfred laughed and changed the subject.

"I got a car for my birthday. It's a fucking beast, man! It's my dad's old Camaro—a restored 69. He's been keeping it at my uncle's place, and he drove it up for my party."

"Oh yeah. Happy Birthday. I'm not getting you shit 'cause you're an annoying pest."

"Fine...fine...I'll let you drive it sometime. Stop begging. It's weak, man."

"Shut up, Alfred," Ivan said fondly. Alfred stuck out his tongue. When the light mood faded, Alfred rubbed a bit awkwardly at the back of his wet head.

"Hey...you gonna be okay, man?" Alfred asked, his blue eyes turning unusually serious. Ivan reached out and punched Alfred's shoulder, just enough to knock the other teen off balance.

"_Da_," Ivan confirmed. Alfred grinned and ruefully rubbed his aching pectoral.

"Let's finish off the fireworks and then get home. Yao and Arthur are probably gonna freak out on us."

Nodding in agreement, Ivan trudged back to the bank and re-dressed, waiting for Alfred to do the same before he lit the last of the fireworks, throwing them into the air as hard as he possibly could. They nearly hit the water before they began to explode, showering the muddy water in beautiful colors and patterns before fading away, leaving nothing but smoke behind.

* * *

><p>Alfred decided to just crash on Ivan's couch. That proved to be a terrible decision when, the next morning, he was attacked by a screaming thirteen year old with nails that had to be coated in steel.<p>

"OW! Stop scratching me! I'm a friend of Ivan's!" Alfred yelped.

"Oh?" Natalia asked curiously. She shrugged, not bothering to apologize, and continued on her way to the kitchen. She was dressed in an old-fashioned style, in an actual dress and stockings. Alfred shook his head at the strangeness that was Ivan's sister and then winced. His whole body hurt. His birthday had been crazy.

"I've called Arthur to let him know you are here. He will be arriving soon," Yao informed crisply as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. He looked highly displeased, and his mouth was a firm line of disapproval. Ivan came sulking down the stairs after his boyfriend, looking a little sheepish. He'd obviously showered and Yao had patched him up. He was shirtless, with a towel around his shoulders, and covered in a weird mish-mash of Chinese wound medicine and knock-off Hello Kitty band-aids.

"What are you? A four year old girl?" Alfred mocked under his breath. Ivan promptly shoved him back over the couch.

"_No_ rough housing in my house! It's bad enough you're stomping around in muddy shoes and putting them on my couch, Alfred," Yao fussed. After such a long sleep, Yao looked clean, refreshed, and sharp as ever. His hair was silky, smooth, and braided neatly down his back. His expression was not one of amusement as he made his morning tea and rice with the groceries Ivan had retrieved the day before.

Alfred grinned sheepishly and took his dirty sneakers off. Just as he carried them to the door, there was a pleasant chiming noise and Alfred could see Arthur's form on the other side.

"Fuck," Alfred cursed.

"Young ears are present," Yao reminded sharply, his dark eyes drifting to Natalia, who stared at them all with unconcealed interest. While Alfred was still trying to figure out what his excuse was going to be, Yao crossed the house quickly and opened the door. He bowed in a friendly gesture to his old friend and welcomed Arthur inside graciously. Arthur automatically removed his shoes without being asked, and Yao shot Alfred a look as if to say, _'If he can do it, you can to.' _

"Hi baby," Alfred greeted with a hopeful smile. Arthur just gave him a sharp glance and continued chatting with Yao, praising the house and inquiring politely about his flight.

"I apologize for him barging in on you last night," Arthur said, as if Alfred were a stray dog that had wandered away from home. Throughout all of this, Ivan snickered at Alfred's clear discomfort and unhappiness at being ignored for the moment. He poured himself a large mug of Yao's green tea and then offered tea to Arthur (who accepted) and Alfred (who declined with a babyish face of disgust).

"Alfred, a 'no thank-you' will suffice," Arthur rebuked lightly. Yao seemed pacified now that Arthur was present to manage his boyfriend, and the four of them began to talk in the kitchen. Mostly Yao and Arthur talked, all while Arthur surreptitiously checked Alfred for any serious injuries.

"Our boyfriends thought it would be fun to go out in the woods last night and fight, and drink, and shoot off fireworks without any regard for safety precautions," Yao informed. Ivan and Alfred shared grins. Alfred promptly stopped grinning when Arthur gripped his chin hard and inspected the busted lip, making a tsk-ing noise of disapproval.

"I'm okay," Alfred said placating. Arthur sneered over the rim of his tea cup.

"What makes you think I care? I spent the night tending to Francis. His nose looks terrible, by the way," Arthur informed. Alfred pouted at the mention of where his boyfriend had spent the previous night.

"I'm glad it looks bad. He had it coming!" Alfred defended. He tried to sidle up to Arthur, but the prince firmly pushed him off and sneered in distaste at the state of his clothes. Yao and Ivan exchanged curious looks.

"What happened?" Yao asked.

"Alfred stirred up all sorts of trouble on his birthday. He was a little drunk when Matthew called and told him," Arthur glanced at Natalia uneasily, "told him that Francis had made a new friend. Alfred drunkenly defended Matthew's honor, though I think it had much less to do with caring for his friend and much more to do with being an idiot," Arthur explained. Ivan grinned broadly.

"Nice, Alfred," he praised. Yao shot Ivan an annoyed look.

"Oh, for the love of...what did you two _do_? You look like you rolled through a briar patch," Arthur fussed, finally giving into his overpowering urge to fuss over Alfred. Happy now that he was being given attention again, Alfred smiled lovingly as Arthur tugged at his shirt to inspect his back and wet his thumb to rub at the dried blood on his chin. Arthur was not gentle in the least, but Alfred nuzzled against the shorter boy's hand and smiled sweetly.

"Don't give me that look, Alfred Jones. You're _far_ from being forgiven for the absolute nightmare that was your birthday."

Further conversation halted when Sofia came downstairs with a fussy Raivis on her hip. She seemed startled that they had guests, but quickly smiled and introduced herself. Some sleep had returned her friendly nature. Alfred oogled at her chest a little too long, and he earned himself two smacks on teh back of his head—one from Arthur that nearly made him see stars, and a second one from Ivan immediately after that nearly put him through the kitchen counter.

"OUCH!" Alfred protested. "You can't blame me!"

"Can't blame you for what? Ivan, it isn't polite to rough house with guests," Sofia chided lightly, offering Alfred a big smile. Yao took Raivis so that Sofia could make herself some tea and eat a little breakfast. The toddler instantly pacified himself by stuffing the end of Yao's pristine braid into his mouth and gumming on it. Yao only sighed, but his smile was fond. He kissed the babe's forehead indulgently.

"And who is this little one?" Arthur asked with a smile. Yao smiled back proudly, the toddler in his arms nearly as big as his slender torso.

"This is...well...he's our son. Me and Ivan's."

Arthur nearly choked on his tea, and Alfred snickered.

"Pardon?" Arthur choked out, while Alfred helpfully patted his back.

"It is a long story, but we sort of...adopted him, while in Russia this summer. Sofia is going to care for him while we're at school," Yao explained.

"C-congratulations, then," Arthur stammered, still looking highly surprised. Ivan casually handed Yao a bottle of milk. The toddler no longer drank formula, but he ate only softer foods and still preferred his bottle to a toddler cup. Yao offered the bottle easily, as if he'd already mastered the skill through practice. He held it for the blond tot for a few moments before the child nestled up against him and held the bottle on his own, blue eyes blinking sleepily at their visitors.

"Great...now Arthur's gonna want one," Alfred said teasingly, earning himself another light smack.

"Don't be ridiculous! Not that it's, err, ridiculous that you have a child now," Arthur said, clearly struggling. Yao took pity on him.

"It _is_ a little ridiculous. We were not exactly prepared for this either. It's a tragic story, and I'll have to tell you sometime soon, when it's just the two of us," Yao offered. Arthur nodded, realizing much was going unsaid.

Bored with the conversation once more, Natalia turned her face to her cereal and began to play with it listlessly. Sofia ate some of the rice Yao had prepared and sipped her tea.

"You're clearly in the middle of breakfast, and we've intruded. I'm glad you've all arrived safely and we'll have to get dinner sometime soon. Thank you for the tea," Arthur said, putting his empty cup in the spotless sink.

"Thank _you_ for coming to pick him up," Yao said.

"I'm right here, Yao. Geez!" Alfred complained. Yao just smiled ever so slightly and saw them to the door. They collected their shoes, and Alfred realized with some surprise that Arthur had come in his new Camaro.

"You drove my baby?" Alfred asked, sounding panicky. Arthur arched a thick brow.

"I thought _I_ was your baby?"

"You stayed on the right side of the road, right?" Alfred demanded. He had already flown across the yard in his haste to check for non-existent scratches and dings.

"I've already got my driver's license—got it last summer. Do you even have yours?" Arthur asked. Alfred frowned.

"I'm going to get it!"

"Sure you are. I believe _you're _on the wrong side, poppet." Glaring, Alfred moved to the passenger side and gingerly slid into the seat.

"I'm not getting blood anywhere, am I?"

"Oh, so _now_ your concerned about your pointless wounds?" Arthur retorted as he slid behind the wheel.

"Be gentle with her," Alfred begged. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Alfred, we've got to talk."

"Sixteen."

"What?" Arthur asked confused.

"That's how many times we've had to 'talk' since you got here...a week ago," Alfred concluded.

"Well, stop being a tosser and we'll stop having to 'talk'," Arthur snapped. Alfred's eyes went wide.

"Don't take your hands off the steering wheel to make air quotes!" he begged. Arthur rolled his eyes again. Alfred was going to be the death of him, or at the very least, the death of his patience.

"First, this situation with Matthew and Francis."

"Asshole," Alfred grumbled.

"For the most part, I agree with you, but you can't entirely blame him. Alfred, his parents have gone through a terrible divorce this summer. You can't even imagine the fighting and the pain. It's been awful. He's been a little disconnected from everyone—not _just_ Matthew. But Matthew's replaced him, and even you, by the looks of it, with this Alex fellow, who seems nice enough."

"What do you mean he's replaced me?" Alfred asked, already pouting. Arthur glanced at him and shook his head pityingly.

"Alfred, what did you think would happen? You spent all summer going to parties and hanging out with people who don't give a damn about you, and you barely gave Matthew the time of day. Matthew is nice and funny and kind. He can make new friends. You should remember that before you treat him like he's not important," Arthur chastised.

"Well who the hell is this Mexcian dude?" Alfred asked, clearly in a sulk.

"He's Cuban."

"Same thing," Alfred retorted childishly.

"It's most certainly _not_ the same thing. Don't embarrass me by making statements like that when you meet him. He's a nice enough bloke, and he certainly seems to care for Matthew," Arthur warned.

"I care about Mattie, too," Alfred insisted.

"Then you won't object to cleaning up and going over to apologize properly to him. Telling him 'I told you so' is not how you comfort your best friend when his boyfriend of a year has cheated on him."

Alfred sighed. It was a long, drawn-out, dramatic sound.

"Okaaaaaay. Geez. What are you, my mother?" Alfred jibed.

"I should think not! Your mother was crawling though the bushes this morning looking for her knickers. When she realized I was standing there, horrified, her response was to ask me to get her a cocktail."

"Ugh...I didn't need to hear that," Alfred replied waspishly, glaring weakly at Arthur. The British boy just turned neatly out of the neighborhood and carefully checked his mirrors. His hands were in the ten and two position respectively, the very picture of good, safe driving.

"Now what's all this business about Ivan and Yao having a toddler now?" Arthur asked.

"It's so fucked up. There was all this drama about Ivan coming out of the closet back in Russia, and his dad was getting shit for it, and so he lashed out at this rival mafia family that killed his wife a long time ago, and kidnapped the kid and killed his real parents. Then he told Ivan it was his punishment to raise the kid, since he and Yao will never have kids of their own. But despite punishing him and treating him like crap all summer, he tried to keep them all safe. They're in America permanently now. He pulled a bunch of strings and used up what was left of his wealth to get them here. Now Ivan's dad is stuck in Russia and he's gonna get hunted down any day now. He's too proud to leave. Ivan's gotta take care of all of them now," Alfred explained. Arthur let out a low whistle of disbelief.

"Blimey," he replied.

"Yeah."

"So you talked to Ivan about it? About his feelings?" Arthur asked.

"Err...kinda. We don't really talk about girly stuff like that. He's gonna be okay, though. We wrestled some. I think he just needed to work off some anger."

"Is that how you got that busted lip?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, touching it tenderly and wincing. Carefully shifting his hands, Arthur extended his palm towards Alfred. His boyfriend glanced at him curiously, but took the other boy's hand. Arthur settled their hands between them and gave Alfred's a little squeeze.

"I think Matthew will forgive you if you ask nicely, and show respect towards Alex. He's happy he's made a new friend. Don't take that from him, okay?"

"Okay," Alfred said subdued.

"I'll patch you up when we get back to the house. Honestly, I can't let you out of my sight."

"I'm sorry if I worried you last night. Did you really stay with Francis?" Alfred asked, sounding rather vulnerable.

"I did, but only because I didn't want him to be alone after what happened. He isn't perfect, but Matthew _did_ know he was less than loyal when they started dating, and from what Francis tells me, the rules of their relationship have gotten a little complicated. He's not entirely to blame."

"Nothing happened?" Alfred double-checked. Arthur gently squeezed his hand again.

"No. Nothing happened with Ivan?" he retorted, mostly just to put it in perspective how silly Alfred was being. The other boy grinned a bit saucily.

"We _did_ go skinny dipping."

"Well, that's it then. I'm dumping you." Arthur playfully retracted his hand. Alfred pouted.

"But honey, I just didn't want wet undies. It wasn't _that_ kind of skinny dipping."

"Still dumped," Arthur replied flippantly, as he turned towards the White House.

"I love you?" Alfred offered.

"You've been a jerk and it's over between us. Just accept it," Arthur replied. Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and held it tightly, refusing to release it.

"Say you love me or I'm not giving your hand back," he threatened. Arthur's lips quirked up in a half-smile.

"I'm fond of you. Sometimes."

"Arrrrtttiee!" Alfred whined.

"Oh, alright. I love you, even though you're a git."

"And a wanker?"

"And a wanker," Arthur confirmed.

"And I'm cheeky?"

"Now you're just mocking me," Arthur replied drolly. "It's _not_ appreciated."

"You still haven't said you love me," Alfred protested as they rolled past the first of many security checks. As they rolled to a gentle stop in front of the next one, Arthur leaned over and carefully kissed Alfred's cheek.

"I love you, but please, let's have a nice _calm_ week from here on out, yeah? No more fighting, drinking, or partying."

"Alright," Alfred agreed. "Now that you're here, I won't have time to do that stuff. We're just gonna have awesome sex for a week and eat leftover birthday cake till school starts."

"Can't wait," Arthur replied, his sarcasm very obvious. As usual, Alfred pretended he was oblivious to it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Thank you all so, so much for your reviews. As you know, I'm going through a tough time and I really didn't feel any inspiration to write anything until I started reading through what you guys had written me. So for those that take the time to offer a little feedback, this story wouldn't exist without you. :)

Next chapter, school starts! New roommate assignments! New characters! New relationships! Fun, yes? Yes. :)


	6. Back to School

**Chapter 6**

Feliciano blinked wide-eyed at the seemingly endless, white-washed steps that led up to the Washington D.C. World Academy Campus. With a bright smile, he began running up the steps two at a time, leaving his exasperated boyfriend to struggle after him with the luggage.

"Feli!" Ludwig barked in annoyance.

"Check it out, Ludwig! Isn't it great?" Feliciano enthused. Ludwig (huffing for breath slightly) finally reached the top of the stairs and surveyed the towering school. Even he had to admit, it was a very pretty campus. The London campus was more like an old, renovated castle than a school, and it had it's own charm, but the D.C. campus was bright and modern. The style appealed to Ludwig with its clean lines and sparkling white exterior.

There was a crackle of static and then a announcement system flared to life.

"_Hello World Academy students, and welcome to school! If you are a freshman, please head to Building A. All sophomores report to the gym. Junior registration is in Building C, and seniors can find their room assignments in Building D. Refreshments are being served in the cafeteria." _

"Food! Let's go, Ludwig!" Feliciano bubbled. His stoic German boyfriend merely sighed and looked around, hoping to spot a sign that would guide them to the gym. He was distracted, however, by a familiar voice calling out to them.

"Ludwig-san! Feli-san!"

"Hey! It's Kiku!" Feliciano said, happily sprinting off again. With a sigh (and a smile—he was happy to see Kiku again, too) he once again took off after his bubbly brunet.

"It is so good to see you both again. Did you get my letters?" Kiku asked, a typical blush darkening his cheeks. Feliciano smiled brightly and pulled the most recent one out of his crisp, blue school jacket.

"Yeah, I read this one on the plane. I really liked your drawings—they were so cute!" Feliciano praised. Kiku seemed pleased and greeted Ludwig when he finally caught up.

"Have you found out your room assignment yet?" Kiku asked. Ludwig shook his head.

"We're going to get free food!"

"_Nein_. We're going to find out now. I haven't located the gym yet. Learning where everything is again is going to be a pain."

"The cafeteria is that way! I can smell the food!"

"Quiet, Feliciano. Maybe over there? _Ja_, that's it. Let's go."

"Pasta?" Feli begged. Kiku smiled fondly at his cute friend.

"Soon, Feli-san. Very soon. Don't you want to know if Ludwig is your roommate again this year?"

"What? You mean he might not be?" Feliciano sounded panicked, and Ludwig mentally cursed.

"Relax, Feli. I filled out all the necessary roommate request forms and I made _several_ visits to the administration staff building last year to ensure—"

"HEY! It's my new roomie!" Ludwig froze in horror. Everyone knew that voice. There was no mistaking it. He swallowed thickly. The look of surprise and displeasure on Kiku's face confirmed it, without him looking to see who was running towards him...and then blessedly past him. Feliciano was suddenly trapped against Alfred Jone's side, smiling obliviously, unaware as to why the other boy had latched onto him so suddenly.

"Alfred! You're back, too!" Feliciano greeted. All morning, the air-headed boy had acted perpetually surprised to keep seeing old friends pop up at the new campus, as if he thought most of them would surely just stay at the old one.

"Alfred, that can't be right. I specifically requested Feliciano and I be roommates again this year," Ludwig protested. Surely Jones had just misread the list. Ludwig thought this especially likely since he doubted Alfred Jones' ability to read.

"Huh? Oh, ya mean those preference forms? Yeah...I don't think they read them. Artie filled one out, too, but we're not roommates again this year, either. He's paired up with the stupid frog."

"Hello, Kiku, Feliciano, Ludwig. It's nice to see you all again. I hope you had a good summer," Arthur said politely. Ludwig scowled at the look of discomfort on Kiku's face as he awkwardly shook hands with Arthur. This was not how it was supposed to go at all.

It seemed, however, that he was not the only one unhappy with the rooming assignments.

"There's no way in hell I'm rooming with _you_," Gilbert announced loudly (and rudely) shoving a clip board with the rooming assignments against Ludwig's chest as he joined them.

"Well I'm not rooming with you!" Ludwig retorted, scowling at the stoner and then scanning the assignments.

"Whoever made that list was doing crack," Gilbert announced. Ludwig shot him a sharp look.

"Oh? Did you write it then? You weren't supposed to remove this list from the gym. It clearly states—" Ludwig began.

"Ha ha ha. Suck my dick," Gilbert replied.

"Hey! Easy guys! They're just room assignments. Besides, we're all friends, right?" Alfred said brightly.

"Yeah!" Feliciano agreed. The small group shifted uncomfortably, and Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Hey, what about your little Canadian friend? I wanna room with him," Gilbert said suggestively. Alfred's happy smile vanished and he scowled at Gilbert's suggestive eyebrow waggling.

"I don't know what you're implying about Mattie, but—"

"Somebody say my name?" Matthew asked with a pleasant smile. He and Alex had just strolled up, both looking pleased as they'd been paired together as roommates.

"Yeah! Stoner boy over here needs to watch it," Alfred threatened. Gilbert rolled his reddish eyes mockingly at the Hero Club president.

"Oh, jock-strap, I'm shaking," Gilbert replied flippantly. He winked at Alex and boldly put an arm around Matthew. "You get my texts this summer, Teddy Bear?" He made a suggestive kissing face, and Matthew frowned lightly while pushing Gilbert's arm off his shoulders.

"Yes, and they were lewd. Alex, these are some more of my friends from last year. This is Ludwig, Feliciano, Kiku, and the perverted one is Gilbert. You've met Alfred and Arthur already," Matthew said, hinting by his tone that the first meeting hadn't gone so well.

Alex glared at Alfred, and Alfred moodily looked away. Arthur sighed.

"Well, this is a real mess," Arthur concluded. Just as Kiku was trying to unsuccessfully get his hands on the list to see who his roommate was, he was nearly knocked over by the arrival of a newcomer.

"Arthur! I finally found you!"

"Oh, gods no," Arthur groaned. Everyone ceased bickering momentarily to watch the short, skinny little blond freshman press in even closer to the wary prince.

"I bet you never thought you'd see me here!"

Because Arthur was apparently struck dumb and speechless, Alfred moved to stand beside him and casually draped his arm over Arthur's shoulders. The scrawny freshman was cute, in a wide-eyed innocent sort of way, but he also looked about three years too young to attend World Academy.

"I think you might be lost, kiddo. This is a private school," Alfred said.

"Of course it is. I'm enrolled here. I'm not so dumb that I don't know where I am...or who _you_ are. Arthur, are you entirely sure you want him hanging on you like that? If you don't, just say the word and I'll—"

"You'll what? Take out my knee caps? Who _are _you, kid?" Alfred demanded. The little blond drew himself up proudly.

"I'm Peter Kirkland, seventeenth in line to the British throne. I'm Arthur's favorite cousin...really more like a little brother. We're _very_ close. I manage his fan site."

"Peter, you're ten! You're not old enough to attend here!" Arthur finally said, his exasperation obvious.

"I know your surprised, Arthur, but I studied very hard last year so that I could take the exams and skip a few grades. Now we can go to school together! Aren't I a genius?" Peter boasted. Arthur pinched his nose.

"Why didn't my mum warn me you were coming?" Arthur asked.

"She said you wouldn't come to school if you knew. Silly Aunt Mary. So, are you ready to show me around? I've already asked if we can be roommates. They're working on it."

"_No_, Peter, I won't show you around. I'm hanging out with my friends right now, and you're _not invited,_" Arthur ground out. Alfred shifted his hold to Arthur's back, where he rubbed soothing little circles.

"Easy, Artie. He's just a kid, and he looks up to you. What harm will it do to let him stick with us? He's such a little guy—he might get picked on."

"Are you _really_ dating him, Arthur? He's not the brightest crayon in the box, is he?"

"Hey!" Alfred said indignantly. "I was trying to stick up for you, kid!"

"Don't bother. Peter is rude and childish and he doesn't understand the word no," Arthur said.

"Nonsense. Can we go on our tour now, Arthur? Does your stinky boyfriend have to come? He looks like he's used too much tanning lotion. I haven't the vaguest idea why all those girls are fawning over him when they _could_ be fawning over you."

"Gross! You're related!" Alfred protested, annoyed by the way the little boy had squirmed in between himself and Arthur and was now holding his older cousin's hand in a white-knuckled grip.

"It's perfectly legal for first cousins to marry in Washington D.C. I looked it up, and I wrote all about it on Arthur's fan site," Peter said. Arthur managed to shake his hand free, and quickly laced it with Alfred's.

"Peter, you need to go home. Call your mother and tell her to get you a ticket back to England."

"I was only joking about marrying you...unless you would."

"_Peter_," Arthur ground out.

"Babe, were you going to tell me you had a mini-stalker or just let me wake up one day with him trying to steal my face?"

"Alfred, no need to be dramatic," Arthur said tersely.

"Eww. Who would steal _your_ face? I don't think you could give it away, much less inspire someone to steal it," Peter replied saucily.

"My face is pretty! You shut your mouth, pipsqueak!" Alfred roared back, holding Peter off with one hand placed firmly on his forehead, while the angry little child attempted to swing at him.

"We'll just leave you to your family reunion, Arthur-san," Kiku said politely, though looking rather disturbed. Feliciano just grinned.

"Your little cousin is cute! Scary...but cute! See you later, Alfred!" Feliciano chirruped. Matthew and Alex sneaked away during all the confusion, and Gilbert tossed the clipboard carelessly to Kiku, who fumbled with it a bit before he managed to look at it properly. His dark eyes slid down the paper until he spotted his name...next to neat little letters that read "Heracles Karpusi," the Greek boy who was in the theater club.

Relieved that his roommate was not overly loud or Alfred Jones, Kiku trailed after his friends to return the clipboard.

* * *

><p>Matthew and Alex placed their lunch trays down in the pretty courtyard and smiled at the scenery. The circular tables were surrounded by a teeming garden filled with bright, white hibiscus and pale blue hydrangeas. The little courtyard was separated from the cafeteria by a big glass wall, which allowed for lots of natural light to flood the cafeteria and sparkle off the polished stainless steel furnishings.<p>

"It's so different here," Matthew commented, not for the first time. Alex flashed him a warm smile.

"Different good, or different bad?" he asked. Matthew shared his friendly grin.

"Definitely different good. What do you think about the campus?" Matthew asked. Alex took a big bite of his pasta salad and glanced around.

"Nicest school I've ever seen," he said after swallowing.

"No homesickness yet?" Matthew asked. Alex shook his head.

"Naw, not yet, _socio._" Just as Alex offered this reply, something (or rather some_one_) caught Matthew's eye. His fork paused mid-air and he hastily dropped his eyes to his tray. Alex cocked an eyebrow and turned, but other than seeing a general swarm of students in the cafeteria, he had no idea what had provoked such a reaction. He could only assume one thing. "Did you see him?"

"Yeah...he's with _her_," Matthew said hollowly, sounding on the verge of tears. Initially after the break-up, he'd been very strong and resolved. Now, nearly a week later, his eyes started watering at the mere mention of Francis.

"Oh...I see him now. He's very French-looking," Alex replied.

"He's always been really good-looking," Matthew sniffled. The morose boy poked sadly at his mashed potatoes.

"So he's your type?" Alex asked, clearly a little bewildered. Matthew glanced up, blushing a little. He and Alex hadn't really talked about him being gay much after he'd dumped Francis. Alex kept him distracted with sightseeing, hockey games, and baseball the past week. The few times that Francis had tried to call him, Matthew had let the other boy go straight to voice mail and then he locked himself in the bathroom and cried over whatever Francis said in his messages.

But Alex was proud of his friend. Despite clearly hurting, and wanting to forgive and forget, Matthew stayed strong.

"He'd be anybody's type, wouldn't he? I mean, he's perfect," Matthew said almost wistfully. Then he scowled. "And that's the problem—everyone else thinks so, too."

"I dunno, _socio_...he looks kinda...sissy to me," Alex replied lightly.

"He's not. He's just confident. He takes care of himself," Matthew defended. Alex sighed.

"Matt...do you want him back?" Alex asked, a shrewd look crossing over his features. Francis had spotted them outside. He said something to the girl walking at his side, and she shot an irritated look towards Matthew before sauntering off. Francis was heading towards them alone.

"I do. I _really_ do...but there's so many things messed up now," Matthew said.

"Then let's give him a taste of his own medicine," Alex suggested.

"What?" Matthew replied confused. Francis was almost at the door. He looked determined.

"We'll pretend to...you know. Make him jealous."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Alex. I tried flirting with someone else to make him jealous before, back when we first met, and he saw right through it."

"Then we have to do more than flirt. Do you trust me?" Alex asked. Francis was nearly in the courtyard. Matthew's eyes slid to his old love and a single word slipped past his lips.

"Yes."

Francis opened the door and strolled outside. Matthew's eyes moved to his nose, but he couldn't tell it had been broken. It looked as smooth and perfect as it always had.

"Matthew...finally," Francis said, his voice full of longing. Matthew couldn't bear to look at him. His purple-blue eyes fell back to his lunch tray. It was Alex who replied for him.

"You must be the guy I need to thank," Alex said confidently, as he spun in his seat and stood up. He was a little taller than Francis, and as different to the other boy as night was to day. Francis looked him over with narrowed eyes.

"Pardon?" Francis said, his voice cold. Alex just smiled, but it was the smile of a boy who loved a good fight. Francis involuntarily flinched backwards, perhaps remembering the punch he'd already taken to the face earlier that week.

"Yeah. You know. The unappreciative _singao_ that let a guy like Matthew go. So thanks. He's amazing," Alex said. "And he doesn't want to talk to you right now. He's ignoring your calls for a reason, _chocha_." Alex cracked his knuckles and popped his neck. His dreads swayed behind him, and Francis took a step backwards.

"Matthew, please...just talk to me for a second," Francis pleaded. Matthew kept his head down. Alex intensified his glare, and he was genuinely intimidating.

"I said—" Alex warned.

"Matthew, forget being boyfriends—we used to be best friends. How can you not even _talk_ to me? Please, Matthew. This is killing me, truly," Francis said. The French boy's voice cracked tellingly.

"I...I'm with Alex now, Francis. You should go. It's over," Matthew whispered.

"Fine. That's...just fine. But don't think for a second that he'll put up with your shit either! How long will he want to listen to you tear yourself down? How long will he be faithful when you get interested in Gilbert's dick again, and leave him hanging while you do some sexual exploring? Will he believe you when you say it doesn't mean anything? Will he give you a second chance, like I gave to you? Like you're _not_ giving to me? Will he be more willing to share when it's a dirty threesome you want? Does he know how you like it rough? How you like to act out your little fantasies in bed?"

"Shut up, Francis!" Matthew replied, but Francis's shouting overpowered Matthew's meek demand. Alex began to twist off his heavy golden ring, which had once been his father's, and pocketed it protectively.

"I'm about to break your nose again if you don't get the fuck outta here," Alex threatened.

With a furious scowl in Alex's direction, Francis left.

Alex let out a huge breath of air and then returned to the lunch table. He sat down heavily beside Matthew. Uncaring that several other students were now peeping through the glass at them, Alex dropped his arm around Matthew's shoulders and pulled him comfortingly against his side.

"I'm not a...a f-freak or a p-pervert!" Matthew said, clearly mortified. Alex just grinned against Matthew's silky hair.

"Damn. I always imagined my fake boyfriend would be kinky," Alex teased. Matthew snorted in a pathetic mix of laughter and sobbing.

"Now you'll never get a girlfriend," Matthew said, blinking away tears as he looked up at his friend. Alex just smiled at him reassuringly.

"Hey...if the girl can't understand that I'm trying to help out my _socio_, then I don't want her!"

"No, Alex, you can't do this. Francis is right. Our relationship has been far from perfect, and I've messed up tons of times and he's always forgiven me. I'm being a hypocrite. I should apologize," Matthew said, sounding resolute. Alex suddenly slammed his fist against the table, making Matthew jump.

"Listen to yourself! You're honestly considering going to apologize to him because he cheated on you! You said it yourself, _socio_, he's trying to twist things. You don't need a jerk like him."

"M-maybe you're right..." Matthew replied shakily.

"I know it's hard, but try to stop worrying about him. We've got a whole year ahead of us, and it's gonna be the best year ever, right?"

Matthew nodded, and Alex heartily patted his back a few times. At the very least, Matthew had survived his first face-to-face confrontation with Francis since the break-up, but he couldn't imagine what he would have done if Alex hadn't been present.

* * *

><p>Francis started ranting before they'd reached his room. Shell walked along beside him, graceful and ethereally beautiful, not-so-secretly pleased that the reunion had gone poorly.<p>

"He did far more than kiss someone else. And does he suddenly have no taste? Did you _see_ that monstrosity? Those eyebrows! And those awful dreadlocks!"

"I heard that dreadlocks grow mold inside," Shell replied. Francis's face screwed up in disgust, and then he winced when the action hurt his recovering nose.

He unlocked his dorm room and entered, not even sparing a glance at Arthur, who lay on his bed reading a textbook.

"This is ridiculous. I don't have to put up with this. Matthew always plays these childish games—flirting with Jones, then with the stoner, and now with this poor, ugly Cuban kid. He's _not_ making me jealous."

"I think he's doing exactly that. But his closeness with Alex isn't a game. They're best mates, Francis. It's a little odd, but somehow they just click," Arthur said, glancing briefly over the top of his book at Francis and his female friend. She offered a smile.

"Hello, Prince Arthur. I'm Michelle. Francis and I met on the plane," she offered. Unimpressed, Arthur merely returned to his book.

"So I've heard," he drawled.

"Did he put you up to telling me that they're actual friends?" Francis asked as he sat on the edge of his own bed. Ignoring Arthur now, Michelle joined Francis and casually looped her hands around his upper arm in a "comforting" way. "Then again, they have to be real friends. If he was just paying someone, I'd hope he'd pay someone better looking."

"That's an awfully low thing to insinuate about a boy you claim to love," Arthur offered dryly.

Francis did feel a little guilty. He turned his head away from Arthur, gazing out the window. The irritation and jealousy gave way to bitterness.

"Love isn't real. It wasn't real for my parents and it wasn't real with Matthew," Francis replied. Shell frowned and gave Francis's arm a gentle squeeze.

"Why all this talk about love? We're too young and beautiful to fall in love. That's so boring. There's a whole school—a whole world—full of interesting people. Why waste time with just one?" she questioned. Unimpressed by her logic, Arthur just rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I dunno...maybe it's emotionally fulfilling to care about someone other than yourself?" he suggested. Michelle glared at him.

"Excuse me, but did I do something to offend you?" she asked. Annoyed with his room assignment already, Arthur snapped his book shut.

"Beyond being a homewrecker? No, not as such. You're right, Francis. She's very beautiful, and she definitely seems to like you. You needn't worry, either. No risk of falling in love with this one," Arthur judged harshly. He put his book into a bag and tossed in his night clothes as well. Francis was glad to see him leaving.

"Fine, leave. Side with Matthew. Just don't come crying to me when he sets his sights on your beloved Alfred next."

Arthur gave Francis a very cold look as he swung the bag over his shoulder.

"You should fight for him, Francis, like you planned. You're a coward if you give up this soon, and honestly? I respect you less for it."

"Stay the fuck out of my room, eyebrows! We're going to be busy!" Francis half-shouted. Arthur slammed the door.

"Forget them. Let's just enjoy ourselves, hmm? No strings attached. Love is stupid," Shell whispered sweetly against the curve of his ear. Arthur's words still rang in his mind, but Francis tried to shake them out. He turned his head to capture Shell's puffy lips in a needy kiss. Clothes were shed hastily and he fucked her with little consideration, finding her feminine curves and her natural wetness almost alien after all the time he'd been with Matthew. He thought of Matthew the entire time, and after it was done, he had to send Michelle away so he could have a proper cry in the shower. He felt empty and numb inside, and all he wanted was to somehow fill the void that Matthew had left behind.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Man, my life has been so crazy these past two months! Death in the family, followed by two failed relationships, and now a new teaching job. I'm super behind, and I should be working furiously to catch up on lesson plans and what-not, being hired so late in the year, but I needed a break. I thought of you guys and wanted to bring you a new chapter. I'm sorry to say I don't know when I'll have time for the next one, but I'll try!


	7. A Tragic Start

**Chapter 7**

Arthur knocked lightly on Alfred's door, doubting that his boyfriend would be inside. Alfred had spotted some of his football mates and they'd proceeded to bore Arthur to tears with talk of Camaros and fantasy football stats. Arthur had decided to get an early jump on his schoolwork and retreated to his dorm room, but he soon realized it would not be much of a retreat with Francis as his roommate.

The door opened and sure enough it was Feliciano, looking a little rumpled, as if he'd dressed in a hurry. Arthur could just make out Ludwig sitting behind him on the bed, trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles out of his button-up shirt.

Arthur smirked.

"Right then. Alfred's not back yet, I suppose," he commented.

"Nope! Do you want to wait for him?" Feliciano offered. Ludwig scowled at him from the bed. A rather telling tent in the other boy's pants, combined with his flushed cheeks, made Arthur start snickering even more.

"Err, no, but thank you for the offer. You two have a nice time," he offered.

"We will! Ludwig was just about to—"

"FELICIANO!" Ludwig roared. Feliciano (immune to the shouting by this point) just grinned brightly.

"When he shouts my name like that, I'm supposed to shut up. Either that, or I've just made him _really_ happy. I think it's the shutting up one this time, though!"

The dull smack could be heard as Ludwig's hand hit his face in a tired, exasperated sort of way.

Still holding back a grin, Arthur gave Feliciano an understanding nod and left them to return to their activities. Once the amusement wore off, however, it occurred to him how awkward it was going to be trying to schedule alone time with Alfred over the course of the next year.

Suddenly, a tiny form latched onto him from behind, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor.

"Arthur! You found me!" Peter said happily. Arthur's eyebrows twitched in annoyance.

"Peter, let me go!"

"I bet you were so worried when we were running through those bushes and you jumped over that really tall hedge, and I bet it scared you thinking I wouldn't be able to jump over. What were we running from, Arthur? I'm so glad whatever it was didn't get you!" Peter rambled. Arthur winced, prying the shorter boy off his midriff, only for the little urchin to cling to his arm, as tenaciously as if he had tentacles instead of hands.

"I wasn't running away from some_thing_. I was running away from _you_," Arthur replied glumly. "But you've found me."

"Arthur, when are you just going to recognize that I'm perfect for you?" Peter asked, eyes wide and googly. Arthur frowned petulantly down at him.

"Never. Will you go home now?"

"Nope!" Peter replied brightly. "If I'm going to grow up to be as cool as you, I have to be around you, silly!

"I suppose there's nothing to be done for it then," Arthur said with a sigh, as he fished his phone out of his bag. He speed dialed Yao.

"_Hello?" _Yao answered.

"Hello Yao. I don't suppose you'd be interested in a play date, would you? Preferably somewhere with a playground."

"_Yes, that would be perfect. I am watching Raivis while Sofia and Natalia are back-to-school shopping with Ivan...god help him. There's a neighborhood park by my house. Will that work?" _

"I'm too big to play at a playground!" Peter protested. His older cousin just shushed him.

"Yes, that's perfect. Meet you there in twenty?" Arthur suggested. His friend agreed, and Arthur sent Alfred a quick text telling him he was going to visit with Yao.

"Are you really taking me somewhere with you?" Peter asked hopefully. Arthur sent the message to Alfred and then sighed.

"Yes, I suppose I am. It's not as if I have anything better to do this afternoon, since classes don't start till next Monday. If you behave and let me talk to my friend, while you play nicely, I'll get you a treat."

"Really?" Peter sounded ecstatic, and Arthur had to admit, it was a little flattering that the younger boy cared so much about spending time with him. He was acting as though it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one.

"Well, let's get going. We'll take Alfred's car."

They drove the short distance to Yao and Ivan's neighborhood and after a few missed turns, Arthur spotted the playground. It was a very nice one, with four big play sets in bright colors, sand boxes, swings, slides and see-saws. In the backseat, Peter turned up his nose and pretended he wasn't excited.

Yao had walked to the playground with little Raivis, who seemed over his flight sickness and very interested in the playground, but too afraid to explore.

"Hello Arthur," Yao greeted, his dark eyed gaze falling on Peter. "And who is this?"

"Hullo Yao, this is my little cousin, Peter. He's skipped a few grades and is attending World Academy this year. Peter, this is my friend from student council, Yao Wang."

"It's a pleasure to meet you!" Peter greeted brightly. Yao smiled at him. On Yao's hip, Raivis giggled brightly at Peter and reached out a chubby hand for him.

"Look at that, Peter. He must recognize how cool you are. Will you show him around the park?" Arthur asked. His little cousin seemed happy at the attention from the toddler and stretched out his arms for him. With a parental smile, Yao lowered the tot to the ground and let Raivis hug Peter.

"Maybe you remind him of someone he used to know—must be that blond hair," Yao commented. Raivis clutched his stuffed panda bear (the same one that Ivan had given to Yao for his birthday the previous year) and firmly latched his other hand onto Peter's uniform.

"Aww, you're not scared of the park, are you, lad? Come on then, I'll show you! We'll go to something easy first, like the sandboxes! They're my favorite part, actually," Peter enthused, proudly taking on the role of playground guide. With amused smiles, Arthur and Yao moved to a park bench nearby, where they could oversee their charges and talk without little ears listening in.

"How are you holding up, Yao?" Arthur asked.

"I am...not so sure. Life with Ivan is _crazy_," Yao replied. Arthur just nodded.

"I'd say. But you seem happy," Arthur suggested. Yao leaned forward, delicately resting his chin on his hand as he watched Raivis and Peter play games of make-believe in the sandbox.

"That is the strange part. I'm exhausted, and I'm overwhelmed, and it feels like some weird dream...but I've never loved Ivan more, and I feel like this is where I am meant to be. It isn't what I planned, but it's _right_. Does that make sense?"

"More sense than a lot of things I've seen lately," Arthur answered with a soft smile.

"How are things with Matthew and Francis?" Yao asked, as if sensing Arthur was referring to them. "I haven't seen anyone yet, except for you and Alfred," Yao explained.

"Matthew is okay. He's made a new friend over the summer—nice enough bloke, I suppose—though he and Alfred are like oil and water. I think they've got more in common than they realize, and they're both a little territorial over Matthew."

"It's good for Matthew, though. He needs loud friends to draw him out of his shell," Yao said.

"Yeah...as for Francis...well...it's not good, Yao. His parents divorced this summer and they _tried_ to shield him from it, but they did a piss-poor job of it. His mother was crying to him on the phone every night, and his father was expecting him to choose between them for court proceedings, and he's got it in his head that he and Matthew had the same sort of relationship his parents had a long time ago. So he met this girl on the plane and she's a model-type, doesn't believe in monogamy or love, and now he's messing around with her. It can't end well."

"This girl...what's she like?" Yao asked. Arthur frowned.

"I don't know. Obviously, I'm a little set against her because of what she's doing to Matthew, but she was polite enough to me. Maybe she's the sort of person Francis needs right now. I'm just worried he won't find his way through this mess and back to the people who really care about him."

"You mean you and Matthew?" Yao confirmed. Arthur sighed.

"I think Matthew still loves him, and I think they were good for each other. I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic."

Yao smiled. "Then you're in good company. If you can't believe in love, what can you believe in?"

"Does Ivan ever talk about love?" Arthur asked. He immediately blushed, and looked in an embarrassed way at the ground. "I mean...that is...I don't mean to pry. He just seems so hard to me. I can't ever tell what he's thinking."

Yao shrugged daintily. "He's not as complicated as all that. He's had a hard childhood and he has some strange ideas about what it means to be a man, but he's got a good heart. He doesn't put much stock in pretty words, but he shows me that he loves me in other ways."

"Oh," Arthur replied, still blushing. Yao glanced at him and grinned.

"I didn't mean like _that_, but I suppose he does in that way, too. No...it's little things like how he fusses if I don't eat, and when I'm brushing my hair, sometimes he'll just watch me, as if I'm the most beautiful person he's ever seen."

"Wow," Arthur replied. Yao smiled happily.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I don't think Alfred has ever slowed down long enough to lovingly stare at me. I think the most romantic thing he does is that _sometimes_ he'll warn me before he tries to fart on me, or if he's feeling particularly generous, he'll go for a few days without making fun of my eyebrows," Arthur whined, mostly just to lighten the mood. Yao giggled behind his hand and Arthur grinned.

"I've seen Alfred stare at you. Do you remember last year, when we'd study together in the library? It was when you were hanging out with the upperclassmen and you and him were broken up. Sometimes, I'd catch glimpses of Alfred hiding in the shelves, just watching you read."

"That's hardly romantic. The tosser was _supposed_ to be doing his own studying while I was in the library."

"He always thought he was being so sneaky. I guess he was, if you never noticed him."

Arthur smiled knowingly. "I might have noticed him...a few times," he confessed.

Peter and Raivis had moved from the sandboxes to the slides, and they catapulted their young bodies down the plastic with total abandon and joy.

"I wish I was still more like that," Arthur said a bit longingly. "I feel like we'll be done with school before we know it, and then we'll be finding jobs and getting married, having children, doing our taxes...it's kind of a scary thought."

"Don't get _too_ ahead of yourself, Arthur. If he's good for anything, Alfred will certainly keep you young."

Arthur chuckled, because Yao was entirely right. Having Alfred in his life was a little like being immortal, sharing a world with him that was perpetually new and shining.

* * *

><p>It was Madeline after Michelle, and Francine after Madeline. He even went a few rounds with Gilbert, who at least stuck around long enough to smoke a cigarette with him afterward. The weekend passed in a blur of hasty fucks and acrid smoke.<p>

"Ya know, I can get you some stronger shit, if this isn't cutting it," Gilbert offered. Francis shook his head and inhaled deeply from the European cigarette, blowing the smoke out his nose. It was late Sunday night. School would start the following Monday, but Francis didn't really care. He felt like an electronic device that had been unplugged too long, and had finally shut down.

"So you tapped that Michelle bitch, huh? She's got a fine ass. Was she tight?" Gilbert asked. Francis shrugged, uncaring.

"A little sloppy. She's not as experienced as she wants everyone to think she is," he said.

"Yeah. She's a total slut, though," Gilbert replied. Francis tossed his smoking companion a disapproving frown.

"Don't call her a slut just because she won't sleep with you," Francis said.

"Thanks for that," Michelle voiced, as she turned the nearby corner of the building and flashed a smile at them. Francis wondered how much she'd heard, and then decided he didn't care.

"Hey gorgeous. I was talking about another Michelle. Not you, baby," Gilbert said with a wink. Michelle just rolled her eyes and accepted the cigarette materials that Gilbert passed to her. She manipulated the cigarette paper a little messily, but it held together well enough.

"I hear you've been making the rounds this weekend, Francis. Good for you. Forgotten about the ex yet?" she asked. Francis drew the cigarette to his mouth and didn't answer.

"Hell no. He's being a little bitch about it still. Man, I don't see what the big deal is. Fuck that big, scary Cuban dick. You want your Teddy Bear back, then man up and go get him. Catch him in the hallway, shove him up against a locker, and tell him you're gonna pound his ass till he can't walk. Then make him call you daddy," Gilbert suggested with a lewd wink. Michelle gave him a disgusted look.

"You're a real freak, you know that Gilbert?" she replied.

"I'm a freak for you, sexy. What do ya say? Wanna meet Big Gilly?"

"Charming, but no thanks," Michelle replied.

Francis ignored them, for the most part, and focused on taking long, slow drags on his cigarette.

"So what did you come for? I think Francis has officially worn out his dick for the night," Gilbert informed with a salacious wink. It was then that Michelle pulled a bottle of expensive looking wine from her shoulder bag.

The label caught Francis's eye, and Michelle smiled.

"I thought it might catch your attention. I stole it from my parent's wine cellar before I left. Wanna share a glass with me, boys?" she offered. Francis smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"_Oui_. Let's celebrate the start of a new year. It's off to a fantastic start, no?" Francis said, pushing tiredly off the wall and throwing his cigarette butt to the ground, where he smoothly extinguished it with the toe of his designer shoe.

"Is there any chance we'll all get fucked up on wine and have a threesome?" Gilbert asked. Michelle just smiled a little mysteriously over her shoulder as she followed Francis.

"Maybe. Only one way to find out, stoner-boy," she said in a sing-song type voice. Delighted, Gilbert trailed after them, eager as a little puppy.

* * *

><p>The rumors reached Matthew, too, over the course of the weekend. Unlike Francis, his weekend was incredibly tame. When the first day of class was over, he tried to hang out with both Alfred and Alex at the same time, but after spending the entire hour breaking up petty arguments about things such as which super hero was really coolest, who the best baseball player was, and whether or not Cuba and Mexico were the same place, he finally announced that he was going for a walk by himself.<p>

Matthew should have learned his lesson. Weird things happened to him when he went on walks.

He was rounding the corner when he saw them. Francis was in a shadowy alcove with a girl Matthew vaguely recognized from French club. It was broad daylight, only four in the afternoon, but the girl's panties were around her knees and she was moaning quietly against Francis's shoulder as he fucked her against the wall.

Matthew hoped the absolute disgust and revulsion showed clearly enough on his face. Startled by a spectator, the girl broke away, tugged up her panties, and ran. Clearly annoyed, Francis pulled up his pants and then slumped against the wall. He still didn't realize Matthew was there.

"Stupid bitch," Francis muttered lowly, as he pulled papers and tobacco from his pocket. He rolled a cigarette all under Matthew's horrified gaze.

"Francis..." Matthew finally said quietly. Matthew had been a bit surprised that Francis hadn't been in any of his classes. Now he knew why—the other boy simply hadn't gone. He looked hung-over, and he clearly hadn't shaved in a few days.

Finally, he spotted Matthew. He sunk to the ground, uncaring of his expensive (though wrinkled) clothes, and reached out for him. His eyes were so full of pain and desperation that Matthew couldn't help himself.

"Francis...what are you doing?" he asked confusedly. When he reached the other boy's side, he was tugged downwards, into Francis's lap. The other boy smelled bad, like wine and smoke and sweat.

"Don't leave me," Francis begged.

"W-what? Francis...you have to s-stop this! Since when do you smoke? It's not good for you," Matthew chided. But Matthew's scolding fell on deaf ears. Francis had buried his scruffy face in Matthew's neck and was bawling.

"Finally! Thank God you found him, Matthew," Arthur said, suddenly appearing on the walkway.

"Arthur, what's going on with him?" Matthew asked. Arthur froze, biting his lip, looking like a boy who was in way over his head.

"He...he got a terrible phone call this morning. His father...well...he..."

"He killed himself. Haven't you seen the news? It's all over the fucking papers. The affairs, the parties, the scandal—it's all just so fucking interesting! They're calling it the biggest thing to happen in France to the monarchy since the revolution," Francis choked out the words against Matthew's skin, clutching his former love too tightly.

Arthur stood waiting, staring at him as if to see what his move would be. Francis clutched him so tightly he felt his skin bruising. The hot tears running down his throat splashed onto his shirt collar, and Matthew couldn't do it. He couldn't be Francis's lifeline or his punching bag.

Pulling harshly, he freed himself from Francis's grip.

"I'm t-terribly s-sorry, Francis, but I c-can't. I h-have to g-go. I'm sorry!" Matthew offered uselessly as he turned and fled, tears already running down his cheeks. From where he stood, Arthur sighed in a sad way and walked towards Francis. On the opposite side, Michelle slipped out from behind a nearby pillar and joined him.

She looked shaken by what she'd overheard, but determined.

"I can help," she offered. "He's my friend...or the closest thing I have to one here," she said quietly. Arthur reluctantly dropped his scowl.

"Fine. Let's get to it, then."

* * *

><p>Alfred came to Arthur's room after he heard what happened from Matthew. When he reached the room, Arthur and Michelle had just gotten Francis out of a shower and they'd tucked him into bed. He looked strangely small under the covers, and Alfred didn't have it in him to tease him like he normally would. He looked to Arthur for guidance on what to say, like a lost little boy.<p>

"It's alright, Alfred. Francis will be okay," Arthur reassured. But they all doubted the words. Francis didn't look like he was going to be okay, and he certainly hadn't acted that way over the past weekend.

"I knew that he loved her. I knew that he wouldn't be able to live without her," Francis whispered brokenly. Arthur had cleaned him and dressed him, and given him headache medicine, but that was all he knew to do. Alfred looked even more helpless, as he and Francis weren't even very close.

It was Michelle who sat down beside him, pulled him up, and hugged him fiercely. He began to cry hard against her shoulder, and she rocked him a little awkwardly.

"Could you give us some time?" Michelle asked. Arthur and Alfred's eyes met and they moved to the hallway without speaking, wordlessly granting her request.

"I've got you. Hey, listen to me. _Listen_. The first guy I ever loved died. He was perfect, you know? I was only fifteen, but he was _everything_. It was so stupid, too. A car wreck. Then he was gone. My parents pulled me out of school because I was failing everything. They hired an expensive tutor but I...I convinced him to sleep with me. He told my parents I was doing better. For two years we...he was, like, twice my age. He convinced them it would be good for me to study abroad. Really, I think he just wanted to cover up what we'd done. I think he started feeling guilty. He had a wife, you know? And a kid. It's just a really fucked up world sometimes. So...I understand. I understand not being perfect, and I understand doing stupid things that you know aren't good for you, but you do them anyway because you feel—"

"Numb," Francis replied.

Michelle held him more tightly, a few tears now slipping down her cheeks, too.

"Yeah. Numb," she agreed.

"Thank you," Francis said quietly, sincerely.

"Any time," she replied. Francis stared at her, at the pretty tears clinging to thick, dark lashes, and marveled how it was possible to look so beautiful even whilst crying.

He kissed her, then, and she kissed him back.

"I love him," he whispered brokenly. He didn't know if he was talking about Matthew or his father. It kind of felt like both.

"I know," Shell replied, as she pulled off her school vest. Francis undid the buttons on her blouse, until her firm, small breasts were revealed to him, nestled inside satiny black triangles of thick lace.

"I'm too broken for him now. I'm just broken," Francis admitted, his deepest, darkest fear sounding hollow in the afternoon sunshine that filled the room, sneaking past the drawn shades.

"It's okay to be like that. Sometimes we can't help it," she replied. She kissed him then, warm and wet, her body molding against his as they fell against the rumpled sheets. They rolled, so he was on top of her, and her loose pony tail came undone. Her dark hair fanned over the white sheets.

"I'll be leaving soon, for the funeral," Francis said.

"Yeah. I'll be here when you get back," Michelle offered. Francis unclasped her bra, and kissed tenderly down her chest. She was so warm, and so very, very beautiful.

"Promise?" Francis asked. Michelle tangled her fingers in his damp hair and arched her chest against his lips and whispers.

"Yes. You're not alone. I understand. I can give you what you need."

"Okay," Francis replied, and for the first time since Matthew left him, he felt something crack inside, and just a little bit of relief poured out and soothed him.

USUKUSUK

"We can go to Ivan's room. He said we can use it, since he and Yao don't need it," Alfred said quietly. Arthur entwined his fingers with Alfred's and nodded. When they reached the room, Alfred fished out the key and opened the door. The room felt strangely empty, almost unwelcoming.

"I miss London," Arthur said. Truthfully, he missed his mother. The news of the suicide had shocked him. He'd known Francis's father well, though not as well as his mum. But still, it was a terrible note to begin the school year on. He just wished he could go home for a few days.

"Homesick already?" Alfred asked, with put-upon lightness. Arthur gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Don't try to cheer me up, love. Just kiss me?" Arthur asked. His handsome boyfriend seemed grateful for the advice and eagerly wrapped him up in his arms, kissing him deeply so that Arthur felt it all the way down to his toes. Alfred gently kicked the door shut, and pulled Arthur's sweater over the shorter boy's head, breaking the kiss long enough to do so. Arthur made short work of his buttons, while Alfred pulled off his T-shirt and unbuttoned his khakis.

"You gonna leave me soon?" Alfred asked.

"I...I suppose I will. The funeral will be this week," Arthur pulled Alfred's callused hands around his hips and pressed against the other boy's muscular chest.

"I can go with you...if you want. I'm just...well...forget it. I'll go, if you need me," Alfred said, trying and failing to sound resolute. Arthur peered up at him with some fondness in his gaze.

"I'm guessing you don't handle funerals well?" Arthur verified. His boyfriend shuddered.

"My grandma's funeral was awful. I was eleven. Everyone was crying and wearing black, and they made me go look at her and I got really scared and I started crying, and then it just sort of turned into laughing, and I couldn't stop and my mom was _so_ embarrassed. My grandpa decided I was soft in the head after that...whatever that means," Alfred confessed in a rush.

"You don't have to go, Alfred," Arthur said. "I'll be fine."

"Thank god," Alfred replied, hugging Arthur tightly in gratitude.

"Besides, Francis will be enough of a mess without dealing with both of you," Arthur reasoned.

"I'm sorry," Alfred offered. Arthur just shrugged lightly in the circle of Alfred's arms and tilted his mouth up for a kiss.

"Don't be, love. You can't really afford to get behind on schoolwork, anyway. I'll probably be gone all week. You've got to study—not get wrapped up in excursions around Washington and playing football with your friends."

"Alright," Alfred agreed, only because he knew Arthur would worry about leaving him alone otherwise.

"And call me," Arthur added, sounding a little shaky. Alfred nodded and flashed a bright smile before startling Arthur by sweeping him up off his feet and carrying him to the bed. He dropped the other boy onto the mattress, where he bounced a few times before Alfred happily plopped on him.

"I'll call every night and every morning," Alfred promised. "And I'll go by your classes to get your make-up work," Alfred added. Arthur gave him a huge, proud smile.

"Look at you, being all thoughtful and romantic," he praised. Alfred just grinned, and stole another kiss.

"I try, honey," he replied, still grinning.

"I love you, Alfred Jones," Arthur replied sweetly. His boyfriend slanted his mouth over Arthur's lips and kissed him deeply. When they parted with a wet little sound, Alfred bumped his nose against Arthur's more rounded one, and gave the other boy one of those sunshine smiles.

"I love you, too, Artie," he replied. In that moment, Arthur pitied anyone who had never felt the way Alfred made him feel. He thought of Francis, and even of Michelle, and of Matthew, who had known the feeling and lost it somehow.

He vowed then and there that he wouldn't lose what he had with Alfred, no matter what life threw at them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Bonus chapter! Lol, can you tell things took a surprising (but kind of wonderful turn) with the ex? Now everyone's falling in love again. :P Well, except for Francis, but even he got a little bit of comfort. Oh, and a few notes on Seychelles. I have big plans for Michelle in this story, which actually involve Alfred (not in the way you're thinking). So, I promise I'm not Seychelles-bashing because she has a vagina. She's just got to be a little less innocent and wide-eyed and more like Francis to connect with him in this part of the story. From what I get of her character though, I completely acknowledge that she's OOC. In the game, she seems very sweet and innocent, and in the few strips I've seen, she comes off that way, too. So sorry! I needed her a little edgier for this fic.


	8. Two Roads

Chapter 8

Francis did not flirt with anyone on the plane this time. He sat, huddled under a baseball cap Arthur had lent him, and didn't make eye contact with anyone. Despite this, people continued to "walk by" in first class and snap pictures of the two royals on their phones until Arthur complained and the stewardess erected a curtain barrier. Uncaring, Francis ignored all of this as well as Arthur's commentary until they were nearly in Paris.

"Eat something," Arthur fretted. Francis huddled in on himself further and tucked his chin to his chest, so that the brim of the cap nearly covered his face. He was resting against the window, doing his absolute best to completely ignore Arthur's presence. "Come on," Arthur tried again, "just a few bites."

"No," Francis replied. The typical jibe about food that came from Arthur was non-existent. That alone worried the British royal.

"Alright, fine. Drink some water instead," Arthur suggested. Francis merely sighed.

"Didn't you bring a book or something?" Francis asked rudely. Arthur huffed and took a swig of the water he'd just been pushing at Francis.

"I'm only trying to take care of you."

"Well don't," Francis replied snappily. Arthur frowned. He would have been equally lost if Francis had been a mess of tears, but at least he would have felt more sympathetic. Instead, Francis had been in a permanent bad mood, irritable because he could not smoke on the plane.

When they landed in Paris, they were swiftly escorted to a private car with black windows, where they drove to Francis's vacation home. That's where his mother was staying with Arthur's mother, Mary. Christophe's death was splashed all over the tabloids—messy, graphic photos of blood smears in an expensive looking tile bathroom. He'd slit his wrists in the bathtub. The police speculated that after he'd done it, he'd panicked, maybe regretted it, and tried to get help. It was also possible he'd thrashed around as much as he did because of the alcohol in his system.

Francis didn't know which scenario was worse, so he tried not to imagine it. Of course, that was impossible. The mental images wouldn't go away. Even if he had been successful in forgetting for a moment, the story was _everywhere_ in France, and there was no escaping it. Their vacation home was flocked with press, and well-wishers, and just the general, curious public. Arthur and Francis had to be muscled inside, protected by Francis's bodyguard and the man that was usually assigned to Arthur.

Once inside the beautiful, though very coldly elegant home, Francis was instantly swept up in his mother's arms. He stood stoic as she seemed to melt around him. Finally, after a long few moments, he wrapped an arm awkwardly around her and patted her heaving shoulders. Arthur was drawn to his mother's side like a magnet. He leaned against her (a little surprised at his own increasing height) and soaked up her comfort like a sponge.

"Alright there, poppet?" she asked him. Arthur just shrugged, feeling helpless and sad. It also felt wrong to watch Francis's mother have a break-down in front of him. The moment felt very intimate, and it made him feel clumsy and out of place.

His mother gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Come on. Let's give them some time. I'll put the tea kettle on and make you some biscuits."

For a moment, Arthur caught Francis's eye and he frowned thinly. There was no other word for Francis except for miserable. Arthur had a strange flashback to Christmas, when they'd joked about dating, when the house had been full of laughter and innocent teasing. It all felt so innocent now...but, in retrospect, Francis's parents had been bitterly fighting even then.

It made Arthur start to wonder about some of the things Francis had been saying all summer. Maybe love wasn't so perfect? Sure, he loved Alfred and they were happy, but Christophe and Madeline had once been happy, too.

Now look at them. One a wasted away mess of tears and guilt, and the other was in the bowels of some funeral home being neatly dressed for his burial. It was sobering.

Arthur found his mother's hand, and squeezed it.

"There, there, love. Don't you worry about Francis. We'll take good care of him and Madeline," his mother soothed. Once they were nearly in the kitchen, Arthur voiced his real fear.

"Francis doesn't believe in love anymore," Arthur said, as he eased himself into a bar stool at the kitchen's island. Mary went about finding ingredients for her biscuits and fixing the tea.

"Arthur, I'm going to talk to you like a man. You're not a little boy anymore, sad as I am to admit it. Christophe was always sensitive. He was never really cut out for his work, or for life in the media. Madeline was too high strung for him. Instead of grounding her, he'd lose himself in her problems and anxieties. They were a bad match, and life was not kind to them."

Arthur considered her words, naturally wondering if he and Alfred were a good match.

"So I guess what I'm saying is that anyone can fall in love, and that love can be wonderful, but it takes true compatibility for a marriage to work. What has happened in this family is terrible, but they weren't compatible from the start, and they only brought out the worst in each other. She made him nervous, and he made her insecure."

Arthur was grateful for the tea his mother placed in front of him. Besides being sparse in design, decorated in black and white and pale blue, the house was physically cold. Arthur's teeth were chattering.

"I'll go turn on the heat. You look a little peaky, love," Mary fussed, before leaving him alone in the kitchen. Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened a new text message to Alfred.

**I love you. Miss you.**

He pressed send and waited, staring at his screen with tears clouding the corners of his emerald eyes. It took nearly a full minute, but his phone buzzed and Alfred's words returned to him.

**Can you call me?**

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see that his mother had become absorbed in fussing over Francis and Madeline in one of the nearby sitting rooms. He pressed Alfred's number and waited.

"_Hey, babe. What's up?"_ Alfred asked, his voice full of concern. Arthur swallowed thickly and brushed at his tears.

"It's just sad. I wish you'd come after all," Arthur confessed.

"_Okay. I'll get on a flight as soon as I can," _Alfred said instantly. Arthur knew he was being weak—hadn't he been the one assuring Alfred just the day before that he would be fine?—but the promise filled him with relief and he nodded, even though Alfred couldn't see the motion.

"I love you," he said again, quietly. The words felt strange inside the house, as if maybe there they were less real, or less certain.

"_Hey Arthur?"_ Alfred asked.

"Yeah?"

"_If I start laughing at the funeral, you've got to pretend you've just said something really funny," _Alfred said. Despite himself, Arthur snorted.

"That's terrible. No."

"_Arrrtthhhuuur! All the Frenchies will get mad at me!" _

"That's your own damn fault," Arthur replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

"_But you said you loved me!" _Alfred whined. Arthur's grin faded into a simple smile.

"More than anything," he replied. Alfred was quiet a moment and then answered him.

"_When I get there, I'm going to kiss you so that you never get scared again, okay? I'm going to hold onto you really tight so you know I'm not going anywhere. I'll be your hero, 'cause of how much I love you." _

Arthur felt fresh tears slide down his cheeks, and he let his eyes drift shut. He didn't know if he was crying for Christophe, or for Francis, or because he felt like a little of his innocence was gone, but he _did_ know that Alfred's voice on the line made those tears okay.

"I'll wait for you then," Arthur replied. Slowly, he hung up the phone.

"Oh, poppet, why didn't you tell me the biscuits were burning!" Mary questioned as she came running in. Arthur jolted in surprise as the smell of smoke hit his nose. Overhead, the fire detector began to beep angrily. Drawn by the noise, Francis and Madeline appeared in the doorway. Madeline sprang into action, pulling up the heavy drapes and opening a window. Francis grabbed the nozzle of the kitchen sink and used it to combat the flames now spewing out of the oven.

"Oh my goodness!" Mary exclaimed, her mouth a horrified little 'o' shape.

The flames were extinguished and the smoke began wafting out the window. For a second, nobody spoke. Then Francis cautiously lowered his fire extinguisher and sighed.

"Aunt Mary...I think your biscuits are done," Francis said dryly. Madeline still had tear tracks on the hollows of her cheeks, but she let out a dark chuckle.

"God, Mary, is nothing safe from your terrible cooking?"

The tension broke, and everyone laughed. Life moved forward again, shaking death's presence off as if it were merely rain drops clinging to life's rain slicker after a storm.

* * *

><p>The funeral was on a Saturday. They had somehow limped through the week together, Arthur sitting with Francis while he chain smoked and Mary helping Madeline to sort through Christophe's summer suits for one that was suitable.<p>

Francis held up well until the day of the funeral. He was strong for his mother, holding her each time she cried, and he made many of the decisions that she felt too weak to make. On the day of, however, Arthur couldn't get him to leave his bedroom.

"Maybe I could try?" a soft voice asked. Arthur spun in surprise to see Matthew standing in the hallway, his luggage still clutched in his hands.

"Matthew? What are you doing here?" Arthur asked in surprise. The soft-spoken boy set his bag down in the hallway, looking a little uncomfortable.

"I came with Alfred. He's here, too. Your mother is trying to feed him. You should probably go save him," Matthew suggested with a small smile. Arthur huffed in amusement and nodded. As he passed the other boy, he gently touched Matthew's elbow and captured the other boy's gaze.

"I'm glad you came," he said. "You have a kind heart, Matthew."

"I...I had to come. I love him," Matthew said quietly. Arthur nodded, though he wondered what would become of Francis and Matthew.

Whatever happened, it was out of his hands. No one, certainly not him, could predict the path of love.

"Good luck," Arthur offered, before going to find Alfred.

Matthew braced himself, squaring his shoulders as much as he could. He stepped up to the door.

"F-Francis...I need help with my tie," he said softly. The door opened hesitantly, and then Francis just stood there, staring at him as if he were a ghost. After a long pause, he spoke.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice cold. Matthew's eyes fell to the ground, but he extended his hand. He felt kind of silly doing it, but Francis didn't stop him and eventually his hand was resting on the other boy's chest. Francis wore only a simple white T-shirt, and Matthew felt the coolness of the other boy's skin through the material. Beneath skin and rib, the gentle thudding of Francis's heart beat like an erratic metronome. Matthew lifted his eyes to meet Francis's confused, suffering gaze.

"I'm just h-here. I'm sorry that I ran away...earlier...when you needed me."

Francis gently clasped Matthew's hand. He gave it a soft squeeze before he pulled it off his chest. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his fingers moving to the sloppy knot at the hollow of Matthew's throat.

"It is okay," Francis said finally. He tightened the knot expertly, so that the tie looked smart and crisp. "You are here now," he added. Their eyes met, over the rustling sound of fabric, as Francis moved the strip of blue silk over and around, under and through. When it was done, Francis's hands drifted down slowly from the tie, over the lapels of Matthew's suit. The shorter boy leaned forward, and their lips met softly. The kiss was simple and chaste.

"I'm not like him. I would never...but I've thought about it...since it happened. I can't stop thinking about it," Francis said. His words sounded muffled in the hallway, like footsteps on carpet.

"They're just like b-bad dreams. The thoughts will go away, when you aren't scared anymore," Matthew said. After a moment he added, "I know something that might help...but you'll think it's silly," Mathew said.

"No I won't," Francis replied.

"Okay. Then come here," Matthew said, and hooked his finger so that Francis would lean over. The taller boy did so, a questioning, haunted look in his eyes. Gently, Matthew kissed his forehead.

"Wha—?" Francis said, a bit surprised.

"There. All better," Matthew said. With a small smile he added, "That's what my mom used to do for me, if I had bad dreams. She'd kiss my forehead and say 'all better!' The funny thing is—it always was, just a little bit."

Francis smiled, and pulled Matthew into a hug. After a moment, he began to cry softly against the other boy's shoulder, and Matthew held him.

* * *

><p>The funeral was a national affair. The press was everywhere and Francis felt like his father's funeral was being violated each time a camera flashed. He stood with his mother, and Matthew couldn't really stand with him, but it was enough to know the other boy had come and was sharing the experience with him. Even if they never talked about it, even if they never dated again, Matthew's acknowledgment of what they had once had and had once been was enough to give Francis some small measure of peace.<p>

But it was not enough peace. He felt tired inside, and homesick, even though he sort of hated France for being so damn nosy and his mother for never running out of tears. So he was a little surprised himself when he told his friends he would not be returning with them to the states just yet.

"I am one of the top students in our year. I can afford to take off a month or two. My place is here with my mother now. She can home school me until we have figured things out," Francis explained. Arthur predictably began protesting the idea of missing school.

"Our sophomore year is the most important for academics, when you truly think about it. Are you entirely sure you can pull off a break and miss all the foundation lessons?" Arthur fretted. Nearby (she was puttering around the kitchen) Mary smiled in fondness.

"Have no worries on that account, Poppet. Madeline was the very brightest in our class. Francis won't miss anything, or fall too far behind. Tutoring him will give her something to do," she added gently. Then her smile turned to Francis, and it was the proudest smile Arthur had ever seen her give. "You're a good son, Francis. She's lucky to have you. I know you want to go back, but staying with your mother to help her is a man's choice. You've grown into a very good, young man," Mary praised sincerely.

Francis returned her smile with a slightly embarrassed blush, and Matthew smiled at Francis, though it was bittersweet.

"I'm proud of you, Francis, for staying to take care of your mother," Matthew said quietly. "I'll keep in touch and help you with assignments, if you need me to."

Francis nodded and the two shared a look that was full of meaning.

"Way to be, like, Hero Club member of the year!" Alfred added brightly. Francis glanced at the exuberant boy and his expression turned serious.

"Take care of Arthur while I am not there to keep you in line. Make sure he gets out of the library every great once in awhile, and do not let him get too big of a head as student council vice-president."

"Oh, shut it," Arthur replied, though the command lacked malice. Alfred laughed, perhaps too loudly considering they'd all just left a funeral, and the boys began to discuss flight arrangements and luggage logistics.

In all the hubbub, Matthew managed to pull Francis aside.

"Call me if you need me, okay?" Matthew asked. For a long moment, Francis merely stared at Matthew, as if he were a puzzle.

"Something's different about you, _mon cher. _I can't quite place it," Francis said. Matthew predictably blushed.

"Nothing's different about me. I'm just the same old Matthew."

"No, there's definitely something there. When I come back, I hope to see more of it—whatever it is," Francis said softly. Matthew eventually just shrugged and smiled.

"I'll try, I guess."

"And you'll call me if the new boyfriend steps out of line, right?" Francis demanded. Matthew's eyes shifted guiltily to the side.

"It's not really like that with Alex," Matthew confessed.

"Not yet it isn't...but you want it to be," Francis replied.

"What?" Matthew asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "But Francis, you're the one I...for over a year now it's been you that—"

"Think of it like this, _mon cher_. Right now, we are on two different roads. My road goes through a dark wood, and I have to walk that road alone. I have to see what sort of man I am when I emerge on the other side. For now, you walk with another, but you will only walk together for a time. Soon our roads will merge and we can walk together again. I will wait for that day," Francis smiled a bit wryly, "I miss our walks together."

Matthew was flushed with adoration for Francis and his romantic way of speaking, nearly caught up in his spell, when Alfred butted in.

"Sounds like somebody's lost. You guys talkin' about how to get back to the airport? 'Cause I have GPS on my phone. We can all just go on the same road. I don't think we have to go through any woods," Alfred offered. Francis sighed.

"Thank you, Alfred, for ruining the moment," Francis said, with mock gratitude.

"No problem! Anytime! Hey...wait a minute!" Alfred spluttered. Rolling his eyes fondly, Arthur tugged Alfred out of the kitchen.

"We'll give you two a moment to say goodbye properly," he said. Then turning to Alfred he added, "_Without_ Alfred's help."

"What? How was I supposed to know he was trying to get in his pants?" Alfred replied. Arthur shook his head.

"Because it's Francis. He's _always_ trying to get in someone's pants," Matthew replied, feeling quite proud of himself for his wit.

Everyone froze. Francis's eyebrows were nearly in his hairline. For a long moment, Arthur, Alfred, and Francis just stared at the usually soft-spoken boy who never said a mean thing about anyone. Then Arthur dramatically clapped.

"Well _said, _Matthew!" Arthur congratulated.

"That was epic!" Alfred crowed, already beginning to explode with laughter. Francis's shock faded into a reluctant smile.

"I suppose I had that one coming, though I definitely did not expect it from _you_," Francis admitted softly. Matthew just blushed and rolled his eyes.

"Geez guys, you don't have to act like it's a newsworthy event just because I said something witty and didn't get tongue tied for once. Even I have my moments sometimes, eh?"

Matthew's small show of attitude made Francis grin—his first true smile since the funeral.

"I will see you again soon, Matthew," he said. Matthew met his eyes, still blushing faintly, and nodded.

"Soon," he agreed. With one last look to burn between them, Matthew followed after Arthur and Alfred.

* * *

><p>Michelle closed her eyes shut tightly as she pushed her finger towards the back of her throat. It was harder and harder to do, considering how long she'd been doing it. Finally, her gag reflex triggered and the meager contents of her lunch came splashing back up into the toilet.<p>

She knew she was supposed to feel bad about it, but all she could feel was pride. The sense of control it gave her to watch the calories flush harmlessly away was worth any negativity society might throw her way. A little shaky, she rinsed her mouth and checked her phone, listening to the voice mail from her agent again.

"_They loved ya, Shell! You fly out to L.A. this weekend for the shoot. I'm telling ya, babe, this commercial is huge. You and Jones are going to be the it couple after this airs. Call me back and I'll fill you in. Love ya, Money." _Since Michelle had met the fast-talking agent, that's what he'd called her—Money in the Bank. His confidence in her was flattering, and she felt like it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd slept with him, though she imagined it couldn't have hurt.

Lowering her phone, she checked her reflection in the mirror. She was everything a model should be—tall, thin, with exotic features. She ran a hand over her flat tummy and frowned, though.

"I need to work out. The camera adds ten pounds," she muttered to herself idly. She checked her phone again, wondering if Francis would call her or not. Even though she knew he was emotionally unavailable, it just made her want him more. It seemed like she only was interested in a man if there was some huge reason he could never be with her—a family, a dramatic age difference, or an old love, in Francis's case.

Not wanting to seem overeager, Michelle simply texted him her big news about the commercial. He replied back that he was excited for her, but that he wouldn't be returning to school.

Michelle frowned as she plopped onto her bed.

"That's gay," she said, tossing her phone away from her. After a few moments, she picked it back up again. She bit her lip as she texted Francis back.

**Can u ask Arthur to let me hang with him? I'll be so bored w/o u! Plus, I'll be working with Alfred. They want him for the male lead in the commercial.**

She sent the text and waited, but the response was a long time coming. Finally, her phone buzzed in her hand.

**I've asked Arthur and Alfred to keep you company. I don't think Alfred knows about the commercial yet. Let me know if they don't look out for you.**

Michelle smiled in fondness for the French royal. She liked Francis quite a bit. She hadn't figured out how she was going to do it yet, but she definitely wanted to date him before the school year was over. They'd make for a glamorous couple, and it would definitely attract media attention, which she needed at such an early point in her career.

"Hurry back, Francis," she muttered to her empty room. "I can't make you love me if you're half way around the world," she complained.

She thought about her text a few moments before she sent it.

**If u need to talk, u know my number, babe. 3**

A few seconds later and her phone buzzed with an incoming message.

**I think Matthew and I are going to try to work things out.**

Michelle frowned, but it came off more as a sexy pout. Her thumbs flew over the keypad of her phone.

**Do what makes u happy, but don't u think u should protect him? I mean, he hasn't been through what we've been through.**

There was an even longer pause this time before the reply came, but when it finally did, his words made her smile.

**Maybe you're right. I know I need help, but I don't want to drag him down with me.**

Michelle smiled at the message and replied once more.

**I think you're doing the right thing. I know you love him, but he's just not like us, babe.**

She waited, but Francis didn't immediately reply. She could only hope he was thinking about her words, and letting doubt shift his opinions and thoughts until he believed there was no role for Matthew to play in his life.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So yeah, Seychelles is officially an original character at this point, with a cannon name, lol. I'm sorry she's so out there right now guys. I _am_ working towards her true character, but it's gonna take awhile to get her there. In the mean time, she's gonna ruin _everything_. Or will she? Dun dun dun...

On a side note, my students are reading a novel about the Civil War. I gave them a test over it, and one kid actually wrote in an answer that a character went to fight in the Civil War and died fighting against the British. I came this close to writing "Arthur was not present in the Civil War. Alfred was merely having an internal debate."


	9. Returning Home

The Sophomore Year

_Chapter 9_

The flight back was uneventful until Alfred became fixated on the idea of the mile high club.

"I wanna join!" Alfred insisted. Matthew rolled his eyes, though his smile was fond.

"Alfred, _do_ shut up," Arthur replied.

"But Artie, I want this thing! It takes all the dead skin off your feet," Alfred said. Matthew glanced over from his book to see that his friend had one of the sky-high shopping magazines, though why Alfred thought it had anything to do with the "mile-high club" was incomprehensible.

Apparently, Arthur had become fluent in Alfred's randomness.

"Poppet, ordering from that magazine has nothing to do with being in the mile high club. That's a nickname for sexual acts in an airplane," Arthur informed. He was typing on a small laptop, no doubt doing school work. He looked very focused on his work, and was clearly using all his powers of concentration to tune Alfred out.

Alfred's blue eyes widened to the size of small dinner plates. His mouth formed a rather adorable 'O' shape. He sunk down behind the magazine, as if doing so would prevent other passengers in first class from hearing him.

"How do they...ya know? Those curtain barriers they have are practically see-through!" Alfred whispered (too loudly). Matthew's grin widened. Arthur was on his own for this one.

Unsurprisingly, the British royal had a small blush forming on his cheekbones. He was losing the battle of concentration.

"Don't be daft, Alfred. People go...you know...into the bathroom and then they—bollocks, what was I saying? Oh yes," Arthur muttered, before his fingers began flying over the keys on his laptop once again.

Alfred "subtly" scoped out the nearby bathroom, which is to say, he stared at it obviously and with a ridiculous expression of calculation and consideration.

"Heh heh...Artiiieeee..."

"Read your magazine, Alfred," Arthur responded automatically. Alfred pouted. He huffed. He fidgeted in his seat. He finally settled back into reading his shopping magazine.

"I need one of these. It can get juice from a banana! I've never had banana juice before. Oh! Lookee—it can juice _and_ puree," Alfred commented.

"Matthew, I don't suppose you remember when they changed the name of Persia to Iran, do you?" Arthur asked, squinting his green eyes at his paper-in-progress. Before Matthew could reply that he had no idea, Alfred casually flipped a page in his magazine.

"1935. Hey look! An electronic coin sorter! Neat-o."

Both boys stopped what they were doing to stare at Alfred, disbelief written all over their faces. Finally noticing their stares, Alfred arched an eyebrow.

"Hey, what's the big deal? Alfred says something smart and it's a news alert? Geez, guys, I don't _only_ watch Spongebob cartoons. I'll have you know I own the blu-ray box set of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire Greatest Episodes. I've got the game on my iphone and I totally always make it to at _least_ 500,000. I'm, like, secretly a super-genus."

"Did you mean to say 'genius,' or were you trying to refer to yourself as a biology classification?" Matthew asked with an amused snicker. Arthur just shook his head and returned to his paper, neatly typing 1935 where the blinking cursor had been left waiting.

"Whatever, Matthew. You're just jealous of the coin-sorter I'm gonna buy with all that money I win in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," Alfred replied, leaning over Arthur to stick his tongue out at Matthew. Arthur shoved him off, muttering under his breath about the Persian kings.

"I am, eh? Let's just hope the million dollar question isn't how to spell 'genius'."

"_Goodness_ Matthew. Someone's getting rather cheeky," Arthur said with a small smirk of amusement. Matthew just shrugged his shoulders and childishly returned the rude expression to Alfred. It felt good to be silly with his best friend again. Alfred had to escalate it by jamming his nose up as if it were a pig snout and baring his fangs.

"Boys..." Arthur said warningly. Matthew, however, just pointed dramatically towards the aisle.

"An airplane ghost!"

"WHAT?" Alfred roared, instantly clutching onto Arthur with a death grip and accidentally tapping the escape key as he did so. Arthur fumbled for the "cancel" button but it was no good—in the clatter of his laptop slipping off his lap as Alfred tried to steal its spot, his paper was erased.

"_ALFRED!_" Arthur roared, startling all the first-class passengers. Matthew didn't even bother to look sheepish as he grinned out the window. Realizing he'd been fooled, Alfred shook his head in a threatening manner.

"Ohhh...I see how you're going to play this, Mattie-kins. You're a sneaky little syrup-sucking devil, aren't you? Well! Shows what _you_ know! Airplane ghosts are _not_ real. You just made that up!"

"I'm going to turn _you_ into a ghost if I can't recover that history paper," Arthur growled, pushing the squirming, leech-like teen out of his lap and back into his own seat. Alfred, predictably, began to pout.

"He _started_ it."

"And I'm finishing it. There are no airplane ghosts and there will be no more of your fidgeting and face-making. Matthew, don't distract him when he's occupying himself as he ought. Alfred, read your magazine."

"I don't want to read. It's hard," Alfred whined. Matthew snorted in amusement. Arthur shot him a warning look.

"I _will_ leave you two here and go sit in coach if that's what it takes to get some bloody peace and quiet," Arthur threatened.

There was approximately forty seconds of silence.

"Maaatttiiieee...buy me this thing. You didn't get me a birthday present!" Alfred complained. As he did so, he shoved the magazine across Arthur's annoyed face in order to shove it into Matthew's. The Canadian scowled and pushed it away, curiously noting what Alfred was admiring.

"Al, why the heck would you need a water purifier?"

"In case Alex wants to take me to his homeland. Mexican water has worms in it," Alfred said with a superior air. Matthew scowled.

"For the _last _time—Alex is _NOT_ from Mexico!" Matthew replied in genuine annoyance. Arthur took a deep, bracing breath.

"I'd swear, if I didn't know better, I would think you two were bickering brothers...bickering 6-year-old brothers. We're nowhere near landing, and I think the two of you are slowing time with your foolishness. Would you both _please_ let me work on this paper?" Arthur chastised.

Both boys turned away in a huff...until five minutes later when Alfred stuck out his tongue at Matthew and started the cycle all over again.

USUKUSUK

Michelle was waiting outside of Alfred's room, which didn't surprise Arthur. Alfred's mother and his publicist had finally gotten in touch with him once he landed in America again to tell him about the commercial. Naturally, Alfred was ridiculously excited and overly-confident about it.

"I'm gonna sell so many—what am I selling again, Artie?" he asked. Arthur struggled with his carry on bag for a moment only to have Alfred scoop it off his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Alfred was already carrying all their other bags.

"Teen deodorant," Arthur reminded. "I presume you'll be the one with a pit-odor problem, which isn't far from the truth, I might add," Arthur jibed. Alfred stuck out his tongue.

"You love the smell of my pits," Alfred replied.

"I most certainly do _not_. You smell terrible after practice," Arthur replied.

"That's the smell of success!"

"Then I'd hate to smell failure. Oh...guess word travels quickly," Arthur said quietly, when he realized who stood at the end of the hallway. Michelle noticed them and waved. She seemed polite enough the few times Arthur had encountered her—a little jaded about love, perhaps, but kind to Francis at the very least.

"Wow," Alfred said a little breathlessly. Arthur looked at him sharply and Alfred knew he was in trouble. "Arttttiiiee! I didn't mean it like that! I mean, look at her!" Alfred whispered (not so quietly). Arthur, cheeks pink with irritation, simply stomped ahead.

"Welcome back. How's Francis?" she asked immediately. Still annoyed that her beauty had struck Alfred speechless, Arthur moved past her rather curtly.

"As well as can be expected. I suppose you're waiting for Alfred. I apologize in advance for all the drooling," Arthur grumbled. Behind him, he heard Alfred's sigh.

What he didn't expect, however, was being quickly caught around his middle and swung around, as if he were one of the pieces of luggage.

"Put me down, you sod!" Arthur half-shouted. Alfred, however, wrapped one arm firmly around his middle and extended the other to Michelle.

"Hiya Michelle. I'm Alfred. This is Arthur. He's pretty much your opposite—short, pale, and most _definitely_ a dude—but he's pretty much the most sexiest boyfriend ever. We may be working together now, but you'll just have to resist my charm, because I'm totally and completely in love with this guy. Got it?" Alfred asked cheerily. His hand was still extended warmly.

Giggling slightly at the mortified look on Arthur's face, Michelle extended her hand daintily. Alfred gave it a much too firm shake and released her, but he didn't let go of Arthur.

"Please don't go just yet, babe? Michelle probably knows more about the commercial than I do, and I want you to hear about it, too. If you don't think it sounds like a good thing for me, then I definitely won't do it," Alfred said firmly, his voice full of sincerity. Arthur felt his face heat up for an entirely different reason now.

"Would you get _off_ already? I'm not...I'm not going anywhere!" Arthur replied fussily.

"Awesome," Alfred replied happily, finally releasing Arthur.

"Uh," Michelle said a little hesitantly. So far, they'd been talking _about_ her, but it didn't feel like they were talking _to_ her. In fact, she seemed to be witnessing some weird, unspoken conversation between them that consisted mostly of mild glares, apologetic pouting, and innocent little touches.

A shaky smile from Arthur; a relieved grin in answer from Alfred. She realized they must have been very close for a long time to be able to communicate in such a way.

"You two really are as lovey-dovey as the magazines say. You make a cute couple," Michelle commented absently. Arthur looked scandalized. Alfred just beamed.

"We are most certainly _not—_"

"Thanks!" Alfred replied, overpowering Arthur's protest at the phrase "lovey-dovey."

"So...did you want to head inside and talk about the magazine a bit or are you guys tired from traveling? I can come back later," Michelle offered.

Arthur was surprised when Alfred left him to answer her.

"It's up to you, hun. Feel up to it or do you want to crash?" Alfred asked, directing his question at Arthur.

"Well, honestly, I'm quite worn out," Arthur said, blushing slightly. Alfred collected the bags again from the hallway floor.

"You heard him. We're gonna hit the sack a little early since we have class tomorrow. We definitely need to talk more, though. Catch ya later?" Alfred asked Michelle breezily. She smiled at his perfect, charming smile. Arthur was _lucky_.

"Sure. See you two later," she replied with a small wave. She was nearly out of the hallway when she heard Alfred resume speaking to Arthur.

"Do you want me to crash in my room or can I come stay with you?" Alfred asked. Arthur's voice was much softer, but she still clearly heard his reply.

"Oh come on then...but if I catch your eyes wandering again I'll pluck them out. _Then _I'd dump you."

"I love you too, Artie."

"Shut up," Arthur replied.

Smiling, Alfred followed after Arthur towards the room that was now solely his until Francis returned.

The entered and unloaded their bags, falling onto the bed in a lazy sprawl.

"So...think Francis is going to be okay?" Alfred asked. Arthur, who was using Alfred's chest as a pillow, merely shrugged.

"I guess. He seemed sad when we left, but resolved to stick by his mum and help her out. Maybe he just needs to focus on someone other than himself for awhile," Arthur mused. After a moment of comfortable silence he added, "I was surprised Matthew came with you."

"I think he was surprised, too. He seemed really interested in which flight I was taking, which seemed kinda weird at the time. I didn't know he was coming along till I was practically on my way to the airport," Alfred said. Then, with great reluctance he said, "I guess he really does love Francis, huh?"

"I'm a terrible judge of those sorts of things. Whether they date or don't date is of no concern to me—I only want them to both be happy," Arthur said. Alfred sighed, his blue eyes tracing tiny cracks in the ceiling.

"Saving people from their problems seemed so much easier last year. I've been trying all this time to think of how to fix it for Mattie, but I got nothing," Alfred huffed. Arthur smiled fondly but Alfred couldn't see the other boy's expression.

"We're not kids anymore, Alfred. It's not black and white. Maybe it never was," Arthur said. Alfred gently carded his fingers through Arthur's shaggy blond hair in a distracted sort of way, as if petting the other boy helped him to think.

"I think people still need heroes...Mattie and Francis included. I haven't figured it out yet, but you'll see—I'll find a way to help."

Arthur rolled up and turned, so that he was gazing down on the boy he loved so very much. The familiar light of determination burned in Alfred's blue eyes, and unsurprisingly, he had a stubborn set to his jaw. Arthur kissed him softly, chastely.

"If anyone can, it'd be you, love."

Alfred smiled widely and then darted his head forward, catching Arthur in another kiss. Alfred's hands tangled up in Arthur's button-up and he pulled the British royal down, to lay against his chest so that their hearts beat out to one another, echoing each other.

"I'm sorry I checked out Michelle," Alfred said, when their sweet kiss had ended. Arthur flushed red.

"I'd prefer you _not_ ogle models, but I suppose you made it clear enough how you'd feel about the matter if she were to hit on you," Arthur said. Alfred rolled his hips slightly, so that Arthur felt his growing excitement. Just being near Arthur, feeling his skin, hearing his accent, smelling his shampoo—all of it was enough to make Alfred's body tense with need and want.

"She can't make me feel like this," Alfred promised, begging Arthur for another kiss. The other teen obliged, and opened his mouth so that their tongues met and caressed. The sounds of their mouths connecting, a quiet, wet sound, made Arthur's toes curl. The room was chilly, and both boys had goosebumps all over their skin.

Arthur moved the kiss from Alfred's mouth to the other boy's strong jaw, kissing hotly. Alfred moaned deeply and tossed his head back, giving Arthur better access to his vulnerable throat. Arthur took the bait and nipped and licked his way towards Alfred's Adam's apple. He sucked vigorously once there for a long while, until Alfred's pulse throbbed in the shorter teen's mouth.

"Suck me off, Arthur," Alfred begged. The vibrations from his throat hummed against Arthur's tongue. The British boy grinned and pulled back.

"And just what exactly have you done lately to deserve such a treat, hmm?" Arthur asked tauntingly. Alfred's pleasure-sated blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Wha?" he asked inarticulately. Arthur was rarely playful in bed, though it was a side of him that was beginning to come out more and more often. Arthur was highly curious to see how Alfred would respond. Usually, they were both so horny around one another that they had no time for games. It was all about reaching the final goal.

On this particular afternoon, however, Arthur felt his own need could wait awhile. He wanted to make Alfred squirm.

"I asked you..." Arthur kissed Alfred's chin with a smile, "What you've done..." Arthur kissed Alfred's nose next, "To earn a blow job?" Arthur playfully pecked Alfred's moistened lips.

"Uhh...I love you?" Alfred offered hopefully. Arthur could feel the other boy's hardness straining against his jeans. Clearly, his boyfriend had minimal brain power for creativity when all his blood was rushing to his cock.

Straddling the taller teen, Arthur sat back a bit and began to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. He revealed his hairless chest slowly to Alfred's greedy gaze.

"I'll do whatever you want, babe," Alfred said distractedly, his blue orbs glued to the button of Arthur's khakis.

"Anything?" Arthur asked, with a devious smirk. Alfred licked his lips, desperate for Arthur to free the button from the hole.

"Yeah," the other boy agreed innocently. Arthur's smirk widened.

"Would you fuck somewhere against the rules?" Arthur asked. Alfred's eyes widened and he looked up from the mesmerizing button.

"Huh?" he said. Arthur unbuttoned his pants, but did not move the zipper. Instead, he teasingly palmed himself and gently stroked the bulge in his pants.

"Because I happen to know that Professor Allowick has his conference period right now, and he always goes to grade papers in the teacher's room. He also leaves his classroom unlocked."

"Artie, what are you—" But before Alfred could finish voicing his confusion, Arthur had stood up and shrugged his button-up back on. He only did up four of the buttons and licked his lips.

"I'm going to the empty classroom. You can join me if you'd like...if you're not too scared, that is," Arthur suggested mildly. He left casually, as if he was in no big hurry. Stunned, Alfred's mind raced for all of three seconds before he was off the bed bolting after his boyfriend.

_'I can't believe he wants to—in Mr. Allowick's classroom! What if we get caught? Oh god, I'll never be able to think about biology the same way again!'_ Alfred's mind raced in a jumbled mash-up of shock.

The hallway was blessedly empty (most of the students were either still in class or outside studying) and Arthur slowed down a bit, letting Alfred catch up and push him against the lockers.

"We can't _really_ do this!" Alfred protested. Arthur tugged Alfred's head against his own in a harsh, needy lip-lock.

"We _can't_...or we _shouldn't_?" Arthur replied when they parted, panting for air.

"Both!" Alfred replied. Arthur, however, just chuckled rebelliously and slipped out of Alfred's grasp, as difficult to grasp firmly as an eel.

"Come on...it's just down this hallway. Nobody will catch us," Arthur whispered teasingly. Then, he disappeared inside the classroom, leaving Alfred with a stiffy in the hallway—nervously eying the empty hall and the long stretches of shiny, new lockers.

"Fuck it!" Alfred hissed. He slipped into the classroom after Arthur. As soon as he did, Arthur pushed him against the wall (they knocked over the trashcan) and wrapped a leg around Alfred's hips. If Alfred had thought his hard-on was intense before, now it was ridiculous. His skin felt electric, and his ears had never strained so hard for the sound of oncoming footsteps.

"Arthur!" Alfred gasped, when the shorter boy boldly grabbed Alfred's cock and gave it a little squeeze.

"Come on—up on the desk," Arthur instructed, backing away once more with a come-and-get-me grin. Alfred shook his head in disbelief, but followed after him, until they stood inches apart from each other in front of the big, relatively empty desk, sizing each other up.

"I'm going to suck you off, and then I'm going to fuck you on this desk," Arthur said huskily. Alfred sucked in air greedily, still winded from the effort of sneaking into the classroom.

"What if he comes back?" Alfred asked, but it was too late. Arthur turned him suddenly, and roughly pushed him backwards. The piece of furniture shifted under Alfred's weight, and made a horribly loud noise as it slid across the floor. They both froze, not even daring to breathe.

"Somebody heard that _for sure_!" Alfred whispered harshly, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

"We better do this fast then. Lie back!" Arthur hissed back, not willing to give an inch. Alfred marveled at how crazy this was before he gave a little hop onto the desk, decided to just fuck it, and laid back with parted legs. Arthur made quick work of his pants and then his cock was exposed to the cool air of the classroom. Alfred could just barely see some motivational posters out of the corner of his eye, as well as the grinning skeleton model pushed up in the corner, haunting the space as usual, grinning at them like mad with a knowing, perverted glint in its eye sockets.

Arthur was about to suck him off in the biology classroom. It was after that realization that Alfred's brain simply short-circuited. Arthur's mouth closed around his cock and with just a few powerful sucks, he was coming so hard that it was almost painful. Just as quickly as Alfred had come, Arthur spat into his hand, slicked his arousal, and shoved Alfred's legs apart wider. Boneless from his orgasm, Alfred could only grunt weakly as Arthur slid deep inside him with no preparation. It burned, but in a deliciously good way. Alfred weakly wrapped his ankles around Arthur's bony hips and clenched feebly at the edge of the desk. It made another god-awful, ear-splitting screeching noise as the desk shifted again over the tile floor.

"Fuck!" Alfred hissed. Arthur jabbed Alfred's prostate with ruthless accuracy and Alfred began to moan. He'd never been so grateful for a closed door in all his life. As terribly good as it felt to have Arthur so deep inside him, sliding in and out roughly with wild abandon, Alfred's eyes stayed glued to the door—waiting—

Arthur grunted, forcefully expelled all the air in his lungs, came hard inside Alfred, and then pulled out. He staggered backwards, zipping himself up awkwardly and quickly.

"_Hurry!_" Arthur hissed. Not needing to be told twice, Alfred half stumbled off the desk, feeling Arthur's seed dribbling out of his abused little hole, his cock already twitching again and leaking pre-cum. It was a desperate grab for his pants, and he fell into them rather than putting them on. He buttoned his pants but didn't zip them, took a few limping steps toward the door and then found his stride. Alfred's blue eyes flew to the hallway clock outside the door—the bell for dismissal would ring in less than 30 seconds. Arthur was already half-way down the hall, sprinting back towards the dormitory. Alfred tore after him, wincing with each step, his heavy footsteps thundering in the empty hall. The only sound was their labored breathing.

At the corner, Arthur stopped and turned back, his hand outstretched. Alfred reached as hard as he could and their fingers connected, intertwined, and then Arthur was literally pulling him off his feet. They slid around the corner, holding hands tightly, and darted into their still open dorm room. Arthur slammed the door, locked it, and was on Alfred in a second as the dismissal bell chimed muted in the distance. They kissed passionately, ripping off clothing, laughing like crazy idiots.

"I can't believe—" Arthur laughed.

"Where the _hell_ did _that_ come from?" Alfred blurted. All the same, Alfred felt elated. He felt invincible. He lifted Arthur into his arms and twirled him, kissing the other boy hard.

"I love you," Alfred said breathlessly. Arthur was still laughing, almost hysterically. Half-naked, kissing Alfred wherever skin was revealed, pressed firmly in the circle of the other boy's arms, Arthur finally began to calm down.

"I love you more," Arthur replied sincerely. For a moment, they stopped kissing and touching and talking. They simply held gazes and panted in unison, hugging tightly, feeling wild and young and absolutely crazy for each other.

USUKUSUK

"How'd it go?" Alex asked, helping Matthew with his bags. The quieter boy sighed forlornly and dropped onto his bed. It was rather neatly made, while Alex's half of the room was a little sloppy. Still, it was a comfortable living arrangement, and Matthew enjoyed having Alex as a roommate.

"It was stressful. I'm jetlagged, and I tried to figure out what I want to do about Francis the entire way back and I _still_ can't think of anything. I'm trying so hard but I just can't put my thoughts into words," Matthew said, pouring out all his frustration.

"It sounds rough. How did Arthur and Alfred do at the funeral?" Alex asked. Matthew gave a delicate shrug.

"It was stressful on everyone, and sad, too. I'm sure they'll help each other cope, though."

"And I'll help you," Alex said with an easy grin. "Do we need hockey, Canadian ice cream, or both?"

Matthew gave Alex a hesitant smile, grateful for the other boy's kind, friendly presence after the emotional roller coaster of the past four days.

"Definitely both. Nothing burns off stress like ice cream," Matthew said with a smile.

"Oh! I got something to show you," Alex said. "But before I do...I want you to promise that you'll at least go check it out with me. Do you promise?" Alex asked. Curious, Matthew gave a nervous shrug.

"O-okay. What is it?" he asked. Beaming, Alex unfolded a battered looking piece of paper and held it up for Matthew's inspection.

"Hockey try-outs!" Alex said.

Matthew laughed. "You're joking, right? I mean...I couldn't play hockey."

Alex frowned, and plopped down on Matthew's bed beside him. He was perfectly serious, and not at all joking.

"Why not?" he asked. "You like it. We've watched so many old hockey games this summer that even _I'm _starting to learn all the Canadian teams."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean..." Matthew protested weakly.

"You promised you'd at least go and see what it's like," Alex reminded sternly. Matthew reluctantly took the paper. It was for a local youth league, unaffiliated with the school. They were having try-outs at the beginning of September, training for a month, and then their season started with a game on October first.

"There's no way I'm in good enough shape," Matthew said. Alex grinned.

"Then we can train together. I'm getting way too fat, and you wanna be more manly, right?"

"W-well yeah, but..."

"No buts. We can do this! You'll kick butt at these try-outs and then we'll get in shape together!" Alex encouraged.

Matthew's lavender eyes read over every word of the advertisement, committing it to memory.

"It would probably make my dad really proud...if I got on the team. He's a huge hockey fan," Matthew said hesitantly. Alex's smile widened. "My dad and I don't really have much to talk about, but since we've been watching the games, we had a phone conversation the other day that nearly lasted ten whole minutes. It was...really nice, you know, for him to actually _hear_ me," Matthew confessed softly.

Alex knew. He'd found the team after overhearing said conversation, and realizing that his friend needed something to make him feel proud of himself. Even if he didn't make the team, Matthew needed the experience. He needed the challenge.

"So we can go?" Alex asked. Biting his lip nervously, Matthew hesitated but eventually nodded his head once, slowly.

"Okay," he nodded again, more determinedly this time, "Y-yeah, we'll definitely go," Matthew said.

"_Chido_!" Alex said happily, holding his hand up for an enthusiastic high-five. With a shy little smile, Matthew slapped hands with his roommate.

"Thanks for finding it for me, Alex," Matthew said. It was obvious Matthew was thanking Alex for more than just the information about the hockey team. He was thanking him for having just what Matthew needed to get his mind off of his trip to France and what had happened with his ex-boyfriend.

**A/N: **I'm not dead! I've just been incredibly busy. Oh, and yesterday my truck was stolen. Can you believe that? You know the WORST part? I'd just gotten back from RealmsCon, so all the stuff I'd bought (art posters, souvenirs, YAOI) all inside. Gone. Like 150 bucks worth of merchandise and art. Plus, I had the CUTEST AlfredXArthur fanart that I might never be able to find again because of some stupid ghetto car thief. Keep the truck—I don't even care, dude. Bring back my yaoi!

By they way, I hope you liked the chapter. I know it's not epic or anything, but it was hard getting back into the swing of it after taking such a long break!


	10. Betrayal

**Chapter 10**

Kiku had lived with Heracles Karpusi for three weeks now. The first week, the sleepy, ever-preoccupied Greek boy had seemed normal enough. He was quiet, which suited Kiku just fine, and he had an amazing personal library. He was a little messy, but not obnoxiously so, and patient, too. Since Kiku was still learning English, sometimes he didn't always have the words for what he wanted to say right away. Sometimes (with an embarrassed blush) he'd be forced to pantomime or fetch a dictionary. In such times, Heracles just smiled a little and waited for Kiku to convey his message, even if it made him late to class or interrupted his work.

And maybe that's when it had started. Normally, Heracles always had his nose in a dog-eared book about his homeland's history, but because Kiku was a little hard to understand at times, Heracles had started paying close attention to the other boy when he spoke. At first, it had been innocent enough, but lately Kiku couldn't help but feel as though Heracles was watching him..._differently._

"I was thinking I would visit the Washington Monument this weekend," Kiku said. He'd been reading an Otaku magazine on his bed, but he'd noticed Heracles was _staring_ at him again. It was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence, and Kiku felt the need to say something now—to force a reason for Heracles to be staring at him.

But Heracles just kept smiling that strange, half-secretive little smile at him and didn't immediately answer. Kiku felt his blush darken, and he shifted nervously on the bed.

"Well...do you want to go?" he asked. Kiku had been trying to be more friendly and outgoing this year, since he was more confident in his English and interested in making new friends, but befriending Heracles Karpusi was fast becoming an awkward endeavor.

Finally, after a small eternity, Heracles lazily nodded. He licked his lips (while still staring—was it at his mouth? Eyes? Something in his teeth? Kiku couldn't figure it out!).

"Did you know that the Washington Monument is shaped like an Egyptian obelisk? Lots of ancient Greek philosophers claimed their knowledge came from their studies in Egypt, but there's a frustrating unwillingness from modern historians to acknowledge the links between ancient Greece and Egypt. It's interesting, don't you think?" Heracles mused. Finally, his stare shifted off Kiku and up to the ceiling. He stared at the blades of the ceiling fan for a few moments in silent contemplation.

Kiku, meanwhile, felt like an idiot for wasting his time reading an Otaku magazine. Sure, he had nearly perfect grades, but Heracles seemed so much smarter than he was. The other boy was always reading heavy history books, and he was practically a walking encyclopedia. Even though he was a little odd with his strange staring, Kiku admired his roommate's knowledge.

"I did not know that," Kiku said. He didn't bother to hide how impressed he was. Heracles's attention shifted back to Kiku, practically unblinking and somehow, simultaneously interested and disinterested. If Kiku didn't know better, he would have thought a compelling paragraph about Greek mythology was written across his lower face. That's how Heracles looked at him—as if he were a history text book.

When he thought of it like that, it almost felt like a compliment. Kiku knew how beloved history was to Heracles. The only other thing that even came close to competing for his interest was watching plays and helping the drama department create their productions. Kiku felt a secret thrill whenever he tagged along with Heracles and watched the other boy expertly build a stage platform, or skillfully construct a set until it was just perfect.

So maybe Kiku had been doing some watching of his own. Maybe, if he was _really_ honest with himself, Kiku knew why Heracles was staring, too. He wanted to ask "Do you like me?" But it was impossible to say the words—not because he didn't know them, but because the whole fiasco the previous year with Alfred Jones had made him terribly uncertain about such things.

It had seemed like Alfred liked him, too. Of course, Alfred was in love with someone else and Heracles was mysteriously single. Kiku didn't understand that either—the brunet teen was good-looking and incredibly smart. He was patient and gentle and he loved animals almost as much as Kiku did. Plus, the attractive girls (and even some of the guys) from the theater team were always flirting with him, but he never really gave any indication that he was interested. Kiku had lived with him three weeks and he still didn't know if the other boy was straight, gay, or bisexual.

_'Maybe he's asexual,'_ Kiku thought with a frown. He heard a lazy sounding huff of amusement from across the room. Kiku glanced up to see Heracles had returned to his new hobby of Kiku-watching.

"What is so funny?" Kiku asked, petulant frown remaining in place. The Greek boy grinned lazily, and stood slowly. He stretched, like a cat, all slender muscle and long, toned limbs. Kiku had to avert his eyes.

"I like to picture what you're thinking. I had a funny thought about what might have made you frown just now," Heracles said, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to admit. Kiku's expression morphed into one of confusion.

"My...thoughts?" he asked.

"Mmm...I imagined you were thinking about what you'd say if I asked you out on a date," Heracles said casually. Contrary to what Heracles suspected, Kiku's reaction was one of surprise instead of displeasure.

"Are you..._ano_...asking me to be your..." Kiku floundered for the word. With a flaming blush on his cheeks, he simply held up his pinky.

Heracles cocked his head to the side, his expression amused, patient, and curious all at the same time.

"Does that mean 'boyfriend'?" Heracles asked.

"_Hai_," Kiku replied. He couldn't think of the proper English words—not when butterflies were fluttering around in his stomach, triggering tsunamis with their wing-wind.

"Then yes, I want to be your...this," Heracles said with a grin, extending his own pinky up in the air. Kiku, still sitting rigidly on the bed, stared intensely at the covers and concentrated on controlling his blush. It had spread over his cheeks like unchecked wildfire.

Suddenly, a big hand gently cupped his chin. Kiku gasped in surprise and looked up to realize Heracles had closed the distance between them.

"Want to know something else about the obelisk? It symbolized protection. I know you liked Alfred Jones last year, and I know he let you down. If you'll let me, I'd like to protect your heart this year. I've been trying to figure out how to say that to you this whole week. Did that come out okay?" Heracles said sweetly. Kiku closed his eyes slightly at the romantic words and leaned a little into Heracles's touch.

"I find...when I can not think of the words...sometimes it is better to _do_ instead of _say_," Kiku advised in a wise-sounding sort of way. Heracles smiled, and then he kissed him.

Kiku thought it was rather wonderful, and even if he'd known every word there was to know in the English language, not a single one of them would describe how amazing his first kiss felt.

* * *

><p>Mr. Allowick was certain <em>something<em> was off in his classroom. He'd gotten the strange sensation ever since he'd returned from his conference period to see his overturned trashcan and his desk about two feet further back than it was supposed to be. He'd righted the furniture, but still had no explanation for its strange positioning, nor could he expel the weird, almost sexual feeling that lingered in the air.

Whatever it was, it clearly affected his students during last period. They'd been driven to distraction by each other all week. Of course, it also could have been the fact that the teens he taught were not so young anymore. As he scrawled some notes on the board, he peeked over his shoulder to scan a sea of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, far more interested in each other than they were in biology. Or, rather, they were more interested in each other than they were in his lesson on molecules _because_ of their biology.

Mr. Allowick narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful sort of way. Yes, something naughty had definitely gone down in his classroom. He just had no way of knowing what had happened, or who it involved. There were certainly some likely suspects, though.

"Who can tell me what type of chemical bonds hold together molecules?" he asked his tenth period class. As usual, Wang Yao nearly decapitated his desk partner Feliciano whilst trying to raise his hand quickly enough to prove just how certain he was of the answer. Mr. Allowick had a bet with Mrs. Crispen that if Felicano Vargas passed his mid-term, he would tattoo 'PPPAAASSSSTTTTAAA' all across his ass. Suffice it to say, Feliciano was as dumb as Wang was smart. That was why he'd paired them up as desk buddies, but Wang's brains had yet to rub off on Feliciano.

Ignoring Wang for the moment, Mr. Allowick zeroed his gaze in on Alfred Jones sitting in the very back row—the President's kid, who'd supposedly gone from zero to hero last year and became some sort of model/actor/reality TV show star over the summer.

He'd also been acting all weird in class lately, and it had put him firmly on Mr. Allowick's radar. Him and his boyfriend were on each other like cats in heat, and they were definitely high on the list of his suspects.

"JONES!" he barked. The blond boy winced as if he'd been shot and his eyes gravitated three desks up and two over. His Royal Highness Sir Arthur Kirkland (the boyfriend to aforementioned teen-dream boat and the other half to the school's oddest romantic pair) was already turning subtly in his seat to whisper the answer. "Answer without the assistance of Mr. Kirkland, if you please."

"Um...what was the question?" Jones asked, playing up his sheepish, boyish grin. Naturally, the class erupted in giggles. Roughly in the middle of the classroom, the new transfer student who made all the male teachers think nothing in her presence except the determined phrase _'She's not legal! Don't look at her breasts!'_ twirled her silky brown hair and glanced flirtatiously back at Jones. _Her_ giggle was especially loud and girlish: a mating call if ever he'd heard one.

Mr. Allowick subtly rolled his eyes. It didn't take a scientist to realize Michelle would get nowhere fast with the Jones kid. He was gayer than aids.

"Molecular bonds, Mr. Jones. What sort of bonds do molecules share?" he repeated.

"Uhh..."

Mr. Allowick waited. Wang tried exceptionally hard to reach the ceiling with his hand. He was practically dancing in his seat now, wanting desperately to be noticed and called upon.

"Ummm..."

No longer amused by Jones's general inability to answer anything in class, Ludwig Beilschmidt tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk and his icy blue gaze shifted distractedly to the window. Patricia (the kids were calling her Fatty Patty, though Allowick tried to nip that in the bud) also turned around towards the back of the classroom, likely feeling pity for the cornered jock.

Before she could whisper the answer to him, Alfred Jones blurted out the first stupid thing that came into his pretty little head.

"Bonds of friendship?" he offered, smiling charmingly and batting his big baby blues. The class erupted in laughter.

"Covalent chemical bonds, Mr. Jones," Allowick said tiredly. Wang frowned primly and lowered his hand, disappointed. Deciding to toss the kid a bone, Mr. Allowick added, "Thanks for raising your hand, Mr. Yao. I'm glad at least _someone_ is paying attention."

He was pretty sure he heard the fussy Chinese kid mutter something about "stupid Westerners" but that was _not_ a battle he wanted to fight ten minutes before the end of the day.

Lazily, a hand went up in the back, far-right corner. Allowick mentally sighed. No good would come of this, but he couldn't ignore a kid with a question.

"Yes Mr. Karpusi?"

"It was the Greek philosopher Democritus that came up with the first essentially correct theory of atoms and molecules, right? Can we talk about him some?" Heracles asked. Mr. Allowick sighed in a defeated sort of way. The kid never took notes, never turned in work, and yet he had some of the highest test scores. His file labeled him a genius, and he was certainly eccentric enough to be one with his strange "everything-comes-back-to-Greek-history" obsession.

In the front, a few desks over from Wang, Kiku Honda politely nodded his head.

"I would be interested in that lesson, too," he agreed.

"That has nothing to do with what we need to know for our test! Can we finish this lesson already?" Ludwig grumbled from his seat by the window. Mr. Allowick smiled patronizingly at Heracles. Ludwig had said exactly what he was not allowed to say, but wished he could.

"I'm sure Dr. Hummel would love to discuss that very topic with you during your next history lesson, but Ludwig is right—this is biology and we need to focus on more recent developments in the field. So who can tell me what a covalent bond is?"

Wang's hand shot up, startling Feliciano all over again, and this time he got a rather half-hearted hand raise from Prince Arthur.

"Mr. Kirkland?" he called.

"It has something or other to do with the sharing of electrons, does it not?" Kirkland offered. Mr. Allowick would take what he could get. Arthur was an excellent student all around, though it was clear biology was not his strong suit.

"Yes. It's the stable bond created by the—Alex, bring me that," he ordered. The friendly (though overly talkative) Cuban kid in the third row huffed in annoyance but stood up, his dreads swaying as he did so. His quiet friend, Matthew Williams, turned bright red. Mr. Allowick loved confiscating notes—he especially loved getting ones about him. They were usually good for a laugh in the staff room at lunch.

Reluctantly, Alex handed over the note he'd been passing to Matthew.

"If I catch you boys passing notes again, it'll be a D-hall."

"_Si_, sir," Alex said, and returned to his seat looking completely unshaken by the threat. The distraction of the note forestalled any further learning about molecular bonds. The bell rang and the kids hurriedly scrambled for their backpacks, blazers, and textbooks.

"Okay, guys, we'll go over this again next time. Study your notes, do your homework, and start preparing for that first test—it'll be here sooner than you think!" Allowick shouted. Most of the kids fled quickly, but he was surprised to note that Alfred Jones was lingering behind.

Apparently, even his boyfriend didn't know what was up. He stared after Jones questioningly, but Alfred shooed him along.

"I'll be out in just a sec—I just gotta ask Mr. Allowick something!" Jones assured. Arthur looked nervous to leave his boyfriend alone with him—it _must_ have been the two of them. They probably had butt sex on his desk. Damn kids.

"I knew what the right answer was," Jones said, once they were alone. Mr. Allowick would have been inclined to dismiss him, but something about Jones was painfully sincere and honest. He didn't seem capable of lying.

"Then why didn't you answer?" Mr. Allowick replied. Jones shifted a bit, still flashing that sheepish grin, and ruffled his perfect hair. Disgustingly, it only made him look more handsome. Some people looked good no matter what they did or wore.

"You know how it is Mr. A—I don't wanna look like a nerd!" Alfred replied. Mr. Allowick sighed.

"You care too much about what your peers think, Mr. Jones."

"Yeah...that's what Artie's always telling me. But hey, that's not what I wanted to talk about. At the old campus, I had started a club."

"The Hero Club? I'm familiar with it. We keep in pretty close contact with the freshman teachers in London."

"Oh...cool. So how about it? Wanna be my sponsor this year? I wanted to hang up fliers but they said I had to get a sponsor first. You're my coolest teacher so..."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Jones," Mr. Allowick replied with a wry smile.

"Does that mean yes?" Jones asked excitedly, his mega-watt grin contagious.

"That means yes."

"AWESOME! You rock, Mr. A! Oh, and there's some other stuff. Me and Artie were absent for the funeral."

"I'm aware. Mr. Kirkland already collected your make-up work for you."

"Heh, that's Artie for you. He's a machine."

"I bet he is, considering the state of my classroom," Mr. Allowick muttered into his briefcase as he packed it up. Jones blinked obliviously.

"Huh? I didn't quite catch that."

"Nothing, Mr. Jones. Is that all you needed?"

"Oh, no—I'm gonna be out some more. I got a commercial and a magazine ad. Me and Michelle are gonna fly up to New York for the shoot. I'll be gone Thursday and Friday, like two weeks from now."

"Is all this modeling stuff going to distract you from your studies, Mr. Jones? Based on what I've seen so far in class, I'm not sure you can afford to miss lectures," Mr. Allowick said. Alfred just grinned.

"I told you I know more than I let on. I'm actually good at science. It makes sense...unlike English. Why's reading such a big deal?" Alfred whined. "I have to pass English to play football this year. It totally sucks."

"Yeah," Mr. Allowick replied sarcastically, "reading and education totally suck."

Alfred Jones hesitated a second too long and then laughed a fraction too loud. "Ha! Good one, Mr. A."

"I try. Now if that's all, I have to be going Mr. Jones. Don't you have a football practice to attend?"

"Oh yeah! I gotta hurry or coach will make me do drills."

"Alright, run along then. Oh, and Alfred?"

"Yeah Mr. A?"

"Don't mess around with your boyfriend in my empty classroom again. It's unsanitary. I sometimes eat my lunch on that desk."

Mr. Allowick winked jauntily at the skeleton in the corner as he exited the class, leaving a mortified, spluttering sophomore in his wake.

* * *

><p>"He just <em>knew<em>!" Alfred defended, still red-faced. Arthur, blushing equally hotly, just glared at his boyfriend. They were walking across the grounds to the gym together, since Alfred had practice and Arthur had continued his tradition of sitting in the stands to study while Alfred played.

"There's no way he could have known. _You _gave it away somehow. How mortifying! I won't be able to look him in the eyes ever again," Arthur complained.

"Well, better get over that—I asked him to be the Hero Club sponsor and he said he would. Great, huh?"

"Yeah," Arthur replied sarcastically, "Bloody superb."

"I know, right? I mean, we gotta get busy. The Hero Club is _way_ behind."

"How so?" Arthur asked. He tugged in annoyance at his sweater vest. Washington D.C. was so much warmer than London, and he felt like the humid air was always making him sweat. It didn't bother Alfred, which was entirely unfair.

"This year, I'm totally going to save Gilbert."

"Save him? From what?" Arthur asked, a little surprised at the mention of the school stoner.

"Duh. Himself. Haven't you seen him around campus? He's always sneaking off to smoke or do drugs, and he skips all the time. It's a cry for help. That's what Oprah said," Alfred explained. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I told you not to watch Oprah anymore. You get ridiculous ideas about—"

"Oh! On that same episode they talked about this new diet called Flush!"

"Alfred, you don't need to diet. Your neither fat, middle-aged, or out-of-shape."

"Are you kidding me? I thought you were just being nice and not mentioning it, but all my pants are getting tight. I need to workout more or something," Alfred insisted.

"You work out plenty. Your pants aren't getting tight—trust me, I would have noticed that," Arthur joked. Alfred, however, just shrugged uncomfortably.

"Do you really watch my weight that carefully? I mean, you'd still love me even if I got fat, right?" Alfred asked, sounding suddenly (and surprisingly) self-conscious.

Arthur, growing more and more alarmed by Alfred's series of increasingly bizarre questions, wanted to stop the conversation right there and address the issue bluntly, but they were interrupted by the coach, who spotted Alfred's approach and began to yell at him to "hurry his big butt up."

Arthur was in disbelief when he heard Alfred mutter, completely seriously, "See? Even coach thinks I'm turning into a fat-ass." Then, raising his voice so that Arthur could more clearly hear him, he added, "Thanks for staying, babe. Catch ya after practice?"

"Always," Arthur replied, a little dumbly. Alfred was being strange...stranger than usual, at any rate. Arthur caught the other boy by his school vest and pulled him back a step, so that he could stretch onto his toes and kiss him.

"You're handsome just the way you are, love," Arthur insisted once the kiss was over. Alfred just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah—you should work for the greeting card companies with cheesy lines like that. Love ya!" And then he was off, jogging towards the locker room of the gymnasium to get changed with the rest of the team. Arthur's large eyebrows knitted downwards as he frowned. Something was definitely up with Alfred, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

><p>Alfred beamed at the huge crowd of kids packed into the auditorium for the first meeting of the Hero Club. Mr. Allowick stood nearby gazing forlornly at all the rambunctious teenagers.<p>

"Why did I agree to this again?" he asked. Alfred just grinned.

"'Cause science is totally about being a hero! It's about improving the world!"

"Club sponsor pay—that's right. Now I remember. Okay, kid, I'm just gonna sit over there and do some grading. Can you handle this crowd?" Mr. Allowick asked. Alfred just flashed him a thumbs up.

"Sure thing!" Alfred moved to the front of the packed room, attracting everyone's attention. There seemed to mostly be girls in attendance, though a few guys were scattered here and there.

_'The gay kids,'_ Mr. Allowick noted with a grin.

"HIYA EVERYBODY! My name's Alfred Jones, and I'm a hero! In this club, you can be a hero, too!" Alfred half-shouted. The kids reluctantly began to settle down.

"Some of you were members last year, so welcome back! Lots of you are new faces, though, so I'll tell you what this club does. Our primary goal is to help people—all kinds of people, even if they don't think they need help. I've got some great ideas for charity work this year, plus we'll remain true to our roots. Anyone can come to the Hero Club if they have a problem. So who is here because they have a problem, and not because they want to join?" Alfred asked.

Everyone looked around, and the room burst out into chatter.

Suddenly, hands began to raise.

"I think my boyfriend's cheating on me!" one girl said, looking very close to tears. Alfred was about to respond, but another spoke up.

"At least you _have_ a boyfriend. I'm fifteen and I've never even been kissed!" Another shouted.

"Alfred, I want to be homecoming princess—will you be my date?"

Suddenly, the female population was all shouting over each other, waving their hands, and airing out all their relationship woes. This probably would have continued for the rest of the meeting if the sound of a desk being lifted and dropped to the floor with a resounding _bang!_ hadn't served to silence everyone.

"This club is _not_ a spy agency. If you have problems in your relationship, handle them maturely—by _yourself_. We also do not deal in prostitutes, so if you came here to get some action, the door is to my left. Lastly, allow me to clear any misconceptions you might have—dating _my_ boyfriend will not solve all your imaginary woes. It will only increase your problems, because then you'll have to deal with _me_. If you aren't here to pick up trash off the side of the road and feed the homeless—SOD OFF!" Arthur's voice resonated through the room with power and authority. Some were sheepish looking and others were annoyed, but the girls began to file out quickly to avoid the short Brit's wrath.

Arthur glared stonily at everyone until only the truly devoted remained. It was essentially the group from the previous year, with only the addition of a few new faces and the absence of a few members who'd been forced to join the previous year.

Arthur sat down in the back again and re-opened his book. "Welcome back, everyone," he said dryly. Then he sat and resumed reading, as if he was much happier now that the relative quiet had been restored.

"Aww, Artie! You scared off all my new members!"

"I think you mean to say hormone-crazed girls," Arthur replied. From where he'd been sitting over in the corner, Matthew shot a less than charitable glance at Michelle and grumbled quietly to Alex at his side.

"No, there's still one of those left."

"Did someone say something? It's funny. I heard a voice, but I don't see anyone actually backing up their talk. There must be a ghost in here," Michelle said with a bite to her voice. At the mention of the word 'ghost', all hope was lost from their fearless leader.

"What? This place doesn't _feel_ haunted! Should we move? I watched an eight hour marathon last night of _Ghost Encounters_ on TV, and this is _exactly _how it starts. First you start hearing stuff that isn't really there, and before you know it—"

"I _told_ you to go to sleep and turn off that sodding show! No wonder you've been so unruly today," Arthur huffed as he shut his book with an irritated snap. "You didn't sleep a wink and then you drank too much coffee, didn't you?" Arthur confirmed.

"I t-think we should stick to the _original_ members," Matthew said, this time loud enough to be clearly heard. He didn't look at Michelle, but it was obvious that's where he was directing his statement. Michelle just rolled her eyes.

"It's a free country. I can join the club if I want," she said.

The other club members, consisting of Wang, Ivan, Patty, Peter, Alex, Kiku, Heracles, and Mr. Allowick, all watched the drama unfold.

"I can go, if you want," Heracles said airily, as if he didn't care either way. Rather cutely, Kiku firmly grabbed the other boy's forearm, preventing him from leaving.

"Mattie, what's gotten into you? We can totally have a few new members! Michelle is nice, and really pretty. Plus, we're kinda co-workers now. I'm glad she came," Alfred said, his blue eyes sad and his tone unusually serious.

Matthew, in a rare act of immaturity, crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look in Michelle's direction. Beside him, Alex frowned in an unimpressed sort of way.

"This club just seems like a publicity stunt. What are you gonna do? Make an appearance for the media, snap a few pictures hugging kids with cancer, and then go back to your privileged, self-indulgent life? Save the world with a modeling shoot? Give me a break. Might as well call it what it is—The Delusional Rich Kid Club. There are _real _heroes in this world that actually deserve the title," Alex criticized.

"_Excuse_ me, but that was rather rude. If you don't like the club, nobody's forcing you to be here," Arthur replied defensively. Alfred just looked hurt. First, all his members had deserted, then Matthew had picked a fight with Michelle, and now Alex was making him feel about ten inches tall.

Mr. Allowick felt it was time to intervene.

"Look, it seems like this club needs a little more direction and a more selective application process for membership. As sponsor, I'm disbanding the club until further notice. Alfred, if you want this to work, you need to get more organized. You need to actually have an event planned—like a charity drive or a marathon to raise awareness or something. Make some membership applications. That way, you can weed out who's not here for the right reason," Mr. Allowick said with a sigh. He began to pack up his papers.

Alfred, who looked on the verge of tears, glared hotly at Matthew.

"You're being a crappy friend, Mattie!" he accused hotly.

"This isn't going to end well," Wang muttered under his breath. Ivan, who had no interest in social work, began to wonder why they'd even come to the club meeting. He hung out with Alfred plenty outside of school and they shared tons of classes. He didn't think Alfred would take it too personally if he didn't come to the Hero Club meetings.

"We've left Sofia with Raivis and Natalia too long already. Since everyone is just squabbling, we're leaving," Ivan said curtly. Nodding in agreement, Wang stood gracefully and left. Due to the fight now escalating between Matthew and Alfred, their leaving was hardly noticed. Wanting to shield him, Patty firmly led Peter out of the room, ignoring his protests and smiling at Arthur's grateful look. Kiku and Heracles stayed, but watched the drama unfold without offering comment.

"_I'm_ being a crappy friend? Who barely talked to me all summer? Oh yeah, that was _you_! And who didn't come to pick me up from the airport, because _you_ were too busy partying with your stupid, fake friends? You again. And when my boyfriend of a _year_ cheated on me—with _her—_you didn't even check up on me because you were drunk and acting stupid. What's worse, you see nothing wrong with _befriending_ her, and if you had a brain in your head, you'd clearly see that she _only_ wants to get into your pants! She's a messed up slut, and you're an idiot for letting her hang around you. And speaking of friends, you've been a total dick to Alex, even though he hasn't done _anything_ to you!"

"Matthew, that's enough," Arthur said firmly, taking the enraged boy gently by the arm and tugging him backwards slightly. Matthew was completely livid. His violet eyes sparked with indignation and he was huffing in exertion after his outburst.

Alfred, completely shocked, stood at the front of the room with tears rolling down his cheeks. When he realized everyone was seeing him cry, his cheeks grew hot with embarrassment and he hurriedly wiped his face and tore out of the room. Michelle shot a dark look at Matthew and took off after him.

Mr. Allowick slung his bag over his shoulder and surveyed the remains of the fractured friendship. He sighed. Teenagers were so damned dramatic.

"Well...meeting adjourned," he said dryly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I've been wanting to write this scene for like four chapters now. It's one of my absolute favorite moments in the series when Mattie stands up to Alfred and yells at him till he cries like a little girl. I think it was hilarious in the show, but here I went more for dramatics.

Mr. Allowick is another OC, so let me know if he gets annoying. I wanted to show a scene of what the guys are like in class, though, purely for amusement, since seeing them in the classroom is always strangely absent from school fics. Oh, and some luvin' for Japan finally. Poor Kiku was so alone. He'll have a pretty big role in the next chapter, so if you enjoyed his cameo, you can look forward to that.

Lastly, my truck was recovered, and the yaoi was still there. The yaoi-gods have smiled on me! I appreciated all the support and the lovely reviews, as always! You guys are amazing. :)


	11. Trials and Tryouts

**Chapter 11**

Michelle panted lightly and scanned her eyes over the football field. She was certain she'd seen Alfred run out this way, but she'd lost track of him. The bleachers gave a telling creak and she turned her head up, shielding her eyes from the sun, to see the fellow model hunched over in the bleachers with his face buried in his arms.

She gracefully mounted the bleacher steps until she was close, and then sat down after smoothing her too-short skirt.

"Thanks for standing up for me," she said quietly.

Alfred didn't say anything, but she could still hear him crying softly.

Michelle let out a soft sigh and stared out over the football field.

"Your friend is right, you know. I am a slut, by most people's definition."

"You're not," Alfred replied in a small voice. Michelle had to smile. Even in his darkest hour, Alfred Jones wasn't the sort of boy who would let a cry for help go ignored.

"Yes I am, but thanks. You shouldn't lose your friend over me, Alfred. Why don't you go back and talk to him?"

"I'm never talking to him again," Alfred mumbled childishly through his tears. Michelle's smile faded and she leaned over, gently nudging the tall athlete with her shoulder, trying to coax him into uncurling.

"He's your best friend, right?" she asked.

"Arthur's my best friend," Alfred replied instantly. Michelle sighed.

"No, Arthur's your boyfriend, and there's a difference. Of course you're friends with Arthur, and he knows you like probably nobody else does, but Matthew and that creepy Russian kid—they're your best friends. You can't neglect them just because you have Arthur or because you become famous."

"It wasn't like that—you weren't there," Alfred said defensively, finally lifting his face. His cheeks were tear-stained, and his lovely blue eyes were watery and shining with hurt. That was when Michelle realized that despite being loud and confident, Alfred Jones was an incredibly sensitive boy.

"I'm jealous of you, Jones. I think a lot of people at this school are. You've got a perfect relationship, good friends who'd do anything for you, popularity, wealth, fame—it makes people like me want to mess that up," Michelle said honestly.

"But why? I haven't done anything to anybody. Besides, I _just_ stood up for you—I told Mattie you weren't a bad person," Alfred replied, clearly confused. Michelle huffed in amusement.

"So what? Because you said it makes it true? Look, I'm telling you not to choose me over your best friend. I'm kind of a shitty person. You think I don't know that? School, my parents, my career—it's all just so messed up that I want to break things. I don't care about anything except being a model. It's my ticket out of my crappy home life and this stupid school. I would love nothing more than to fuck you and break your heart, Jones. That's just the kind of girl I am. So don't try to be a hero for me. Some people aren't worth saving."

"You're wrong," Alfred replied. "I don't know what's happened to you, or why you transferred here, or why you hurt Matthew, but I _do_ know that there's hope for everybody. I have to believe that or else...or else..." Alfred trailed off, sounding very small and lost.

"Or else what?" Michelle asked, standing up on long, tan legs.

"Or else I might never be good enough—not for my parents, or for Arthur, or even for myself. I have to believe there's hope for me, and there's hope for you, too."

"I can't decide if you're incredibly sweet or pathetic or just naive," Michelle mused. "and maybe that's why I'm so interested in you, but your friend is right. Nothing good will come out of me pursuing you. I think we could be amazing together—as models, and nothing else. I don't know why, but something about you makes me not want to see you broken. I guess, even if I'm crazy jealous, when someone is a good person you want them to have good things in life. So go apologize. Tell him the truth—the fame got to you and you forgot who was really important. You felt sorry for me so you've been nice to me, but you would never betray him or Arthur."

Michelle started to leave, but Alfred reached out and caught her hand.

"Did you really just want to get close to me and screw me over?" he asked, as if the mere notion of such a betrayal was too much for him to handle.

"I did, and I would have, until I saw you crying up here. I feel like that, too, you know. Not good enough? I've felt that way for a long time now. And listen, if you ever want some help with that, you know where to find me. Nobody needs to know if we hang out sometimes. You can tell Matthew you called me out as a total slut or whatever. Say whatever you have to say—I won't hold it against you. Everybody's saying it anyway, so what does one more person matter?"

Michelle gave him a hauntingly beautiful, bittersweet smile before she descended down the bleachers, just as Arthur arrived, looking like he'd ran hard to find him.

"Relax. We just talked. Your boyfriend's virtue is still safe," Michelle assured casually as she passed by Arthur. The British royal glared at her in annoyance and then decided she wasn't worth the attention. Alfred likely needed him.

He took the stairs quickly, and he was almost to the spot where Alfred sat, when his boyfriend stood slowly and shoved his hands in his pockets. Arthur stopped climbing the stairs and looked up at him. The sun was setting behind him and he looked beautiful, even though he'd been crying.

"Alfred?" Arthur asked uncertainly. His boyfriend, usually pretty expressive and talkative when he was upset, just cast his eyes downwards and carefully began to descend the bleachers.

"Let's go, okay? I don't want to talk about it anymore," Alfred said quietly. Arthur felt the frustration well up inside him. He _knew_ something was going on with Alfred, and it was bigger than just the fight with Matthew or a secretive conversation he'd had with Michelle in the bleachers. Even though he _knew_ it was happening, though, Arthur couldn't stop Alfred from going inside himself. It was unsettling, and perhaps irrational, and maybe even totally unfounded...but it felt like Alfred was slowly, inch by inch, day by day, slipping away from him a little bit at a time.

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Matthew was still in a furious temper as he packed his bag after the meeting, on his way to the hockey try-outs he'd promised to attend. Alex accompanied him, but didn't say much. He just let Matthew vent.

"Then he had the nerve to _cry_, as if _he_ was the one who'd been hurt! I can't believe he's actually working with _her_! She's a slut, and everyone knows it. She's still talking to Francis, too. She posts stupid crap on his page all the time. He's lost his father, for god's sake, and all _she_ cares about is getting at his money. She's a fame-hungry, gold-digging, boyfriend-stealing..._mean_ person!" Matthew ranted.

They opened the doors to the hockey center, and Matthew was still ranting as Alex nodded and "a-huh'd" even as he signed Matthew up for the auditions and gently guided him back to the changing room. This was not their first visit to the rink. They'd come numerous times before school the past week, when the rink was still empty, and Matthew had practiced. He'd ice-skated before, of course, and was actually quite good at it. He was graceful on the ice, but never forceful. He had excellent puck control, but even Alex, who Matthew knew would never hurt him, could intimidate him off his attack.

"He didn't even apologize for any of it, you know? He just acts all happy and friendly the next day, like none of it ever happened. He's freaking bipolar or something, I swear!"

"Take it to the ice, _socio_," Alex advised with a small smile, before gently pushing Matthew into the changing room. Feeling nervous on his friend's behalf, Alex moved up to the stands to watch with other parents and friends of the players trying out. Matthew was as tall as the other guys, but he was slender and tentative in everything he did. He second-guessed himself constantly, and freaked out over the tiniest bruises and scrapes.

If it was anyone else, Alex would have just said he wasn't cut out to be an athlete, and left it at that. But Matthew _needed_ this. It wasn't an issue about being girly or manly, though Matthew definitely had a longing to toughen up that was easily apparent, but rather it was an issue of confidence.

If Matthew didn't learn to assert himself and stand up for something, then people would push him around his whole life. The guys he dated would never _truly_ respect him, and Matthew would never respect himself. Matthew hadn't questioned it, but there was a reason why he cared as deeply and sincerely as he did for Matthew. Of course, he knew what a big deal it must have been for Matthew to call him up, a total stranger, just to try and make him feel more welcome at a new school. Then there was the fact that Matthew was the completely opposite of snobby and upper-class. He was so sincerely oblivious to all his wonderful qualities that it made Alex want to force Matthew to see himself as Alex saw him.

But mostly, it was because Matthew reminded Alex so strongly of Miguel sometimes that it literally made his chest hurt and his eyes water. Matthew didn't know about Miguel, and Alex didn't know if he'd ever talk about it. Hell, he wasn't sure he ever _could_ talk about it.

The players began to skate onto the ice. They looked much bigger and bulkier in all their padding, and so Matthew didn't look so horribly out of place among them as he might have without the pads. Alex was no hockey expert, but he could tell Matthew was a strong skater. The other guys seemed to clomp over the ice while Matthew floated.

Today, though, his skating looked a little different. Today, when another player rudely pushed past him, Matthew effortlessly increased his stride and shoved the other boy back just as hard. Clearly, Matthew wasn't in the mood to take crap from anyone today.

Alex's smile nearly stretched ear to ear.

The guys formed a loose semi-circle around the coach, who began to organize the try-outs. Matthew was shifting and fidgeting with his hockey stick, still visibly worked up from his fight with Alfred. Soon, the guys were moving into positions and Alex was a little surprised to see the coach had placed Matthew as the center.

Alex said a little prayer, his fingers running over the worn rosary beads in his pocket, and he waited for the try-outs to start.

The coach dropped the puck on the ice and the hopefuls launched on it, all sounds of scraping ice and the crisp _thwack_ of the sticks. Matthew surged forward, scooping up the puck with agility and startling grace, nimbly spinning to avoid a collision and then boldly muscling into the next player that challenged him. He sent that one careening off course, rocketed down the rink, and took his shot. The goalie was good—eagle-eyed and determined—and the shot was blocked but only just barely.

The frustration of missing the shot seemed only to fuel Matthew into an even more aggravated state. The boy he'd knocked off course ignored the warnings of the coach and got up in Matthew's face. The protective instincts in Alex surged and he wanted to stomp onto the ice and shove the guy's hockey stick up his ass, but he remained firmly sitting.

This was Matthew's fight, and Alex couldn't fight it for him.

The bigger guy shoved Matthew—was shouting something at him—but Matthew was holding his ground. He shouted something back, and then the bigger boy shoved him harshly to the ice. The coach came skating over, and Alex forgot his resolution and jumped off his seat shouting angrily (though he couldn't be heard down on the ice). Alex didn't need to worry though. Matthew was down but not out. The slender teen lunged forward clumsily on the ice and shoved the bigger boy hard, low so as to knock him off his center of gravity. The boy tumbled like a mountain troll and another teammate swooped in to offer Matthew a hand up. The two players conferred angrily about the other boy, and the coach sent the one who had started the fight off the ice with a bark of annoyance.

A new play started up. Matthew was in the left-wing position now, and it didn't go as well for him as center had. He was quickly muscled into a corner after the face-off and rather effectively held there despite some rather creative attempts on Matthew's part to break out. After the mock plays, the guys ran through some speed drills (Matthew clearly out-shined everyone else), and some power drills (he was not the best, but not the worst, either). Matthew's frustration and anger served him well. He moved more aggressively, he asserted himself more, and by the end of the try-outs, Alex was convinced his friend would have a spot on the team.

"We'll post the results tomorrow here at the rink. Thank you boys for coming out. I saw a lot of potential out here tonight," the coach said. Alex beamed when he noticed the coach flash Matthew a smile and a wink as he said this.

He was on the team for sure. Alex hopped out of his seat once more, letting out a whoop of approval. Matthew clearly heard him, because he peered up into the bleachers and waved his hockey stick proudly, smiling widely. Alex was alarmed to see some red against his teeth, and realized at some point Matthew must have busted his lip. If it had happened in practice, Matthew would have fallen to pieces over the blood and panicked about losing a tooth, but now he just smiled a big, bloody smile and looked utterly pleased with himself.

"Enjoy the moment, _socio_. You earned it," Alex said softly. When Matthew emerged ten minutes later out of the changing room, he was talking excitedly to the other boys who had tried out. They were all boys from the local public school, as World Academy had a small student population and Alex didn't recognize any of them. They seemed much more down to earth, less arrogant and stuck-up. They were treating Matthew well, too, pounding his back with friendly pats and exchanging numbers and good-natured smack talk.

"Oh, hey guys, this is my best friend, Alex!" Matthew said brightly, introducing him once he and a few of the other boys drew close enough. Alex gave Matthew a proud high-five.

"You killed it, _socio! _You'll get a spot on the team for sure!"

"I really did okay?" Matthew asked, now sounding a little shy. He'd left all his aggression on the ice—now he was happy and smiling and gentle again. Only the busted lip suggested he was capable of getting into an ice rink and dishing out some punishment.

"Better than okay, Matt. You did pretty good, too—the goalie, right?" Alex asked. The goalie nodded and offered a grin that was missing more than a few teeth. He had wild, curly brown hair, ice blue eyes, and freckles all over his tan cheeks. He quietly introduced himself as Malik. Like Matthew, he seemed more chill and mellow, despite his large frame.

Alex was relieved the guys on the team weren't all total meat-heads, and he spent a quick moment sending up another prayer that Malik would make the team, too. Alex could already tell that Mattie and Malik would get along well both on the ice and off.

"I say we celebrate a little early. Let's go get ice cream," Alex suggested.

"Do you want to come, too, Malik?" Matthew asked, sounding a little nervous and shy but also just a little more confident than usual. Malik pointed his hockey stick towards a brunette haired woman who was chatting with another mother.

"If my mom doesn't mind. She'll probably give us all a ride. Let me go ask," he said. Alex stared after him a little confusedly. Matthew was quick to cue him in.

"He's only fourteen. He's huge, eh? He moved here from Greenland," Matthew commented.

"He seems cool. You guys played well together," Alex praised. Matthew beamed at him.

Then, uncaring that the other players were still filing out, Matthew launched himself forward and gave Alex a huge hug.

"Thanks for this," he said as he pulled back. Laughing, Alex ruffled Matthew's slightly sweaty, dirty blond hair.

"I didn't do anything, _socio_. That was all you out there. You should really be proud of yourself, Matt."

"I actually am," Matthew said quietly, as if in wonder by the fact. Alex grinned teasingly.

"Man, look at you—knocking guys out and getting a busted lip—"

"W-what? My lip is busted?" Matthew immediately shoved his bag and his hockey stick into Alex's arms, so that he could tenderly press at his mouth, searching for the damage.

"Is it bad? I still have all my teeth, right? I taste the blood now! Alex, am I disfigured?"

Laughing, Alex started heading over to Freddy and his warmly smiling mom.

"It looks tough, Matt. Don't freak out over it like a girl after you just kicked so much ass!" Alex teased lightly. Matthew scowled, but then smiled a bit as the humor of the situation occurred to him.

"I guess you're right. Besides, Francis isn't around to freak out over it, so I don't guess I have to, either. As long as I don't start looking like Malik," Matthew joked.

His fight with Alfred all but forgotten, Matthew headed out of the rink flushed with his victory to have ice cream with Alex and his new friend.

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Alfred approached Alex and Matthew's table at lunch looking repentant the next day. Alfred typically bounced from the "jock" table at lunch to the table where Matthew typically sat with Arthur, Ivan, Wang and Francis. Of course, now Francis was gone and Ivan and Wang usually returned home to eat since they had ample time during their lunch break. Arthur had taken to studying during lunch in the library, since he felt like he was horribly behind, so that left Matthew to sit alone with Alex.

Alfred had sat with them once without Arthur there, but the next day he'd sat the entire time with his football buddies and hadn't even come over to say hello. Now he looked like a dog with his tail between his legs.

"Hey Mattie...can we talk?" Alfred asked in a abnormally subdued voice. Matthew shared a glance with Alex, who was clearly determined to stay out of it. With a sigh, Matthew balled up his chip bag and tossed the trash onto his tray.

"Okay. Talk," he said. Clearly Alfred hadn't expected him to still be annoyed. His blue eyes raced worriedly (with no small amount of resentment) towards Alex, and then back to the ground.

"I'm sorry. For everything," Alfred said.

"I guess that's a good start, but I want to know _why_ you're sorry," Matthew said. He felt strong after his try-outs, and that quiet strength carried through in his voice. Clearly, it startled Alfred. He looked up at Matthew almost as if he were a stranger, and Alfred didn't recognize him.

"W-well, uh, I guess I'm sorry because I was a jerk. And I...err...let the fame get to me this summer. I would never choose Michelle over you, and I wouldn't betray Arthur. I don't want to be fighting with you. You mean...well...you mean a lot to me, Mattie! You know that. You're my best friend. I know I might not be yours anymore, but you're still mine," Alfred said sincerely, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

Matthew felt his resistance crumbling. He stood up and gently extended his hand. Alfred gripped it—too hard—and eagerly.

"I forgive you," Matthew pulled Alfred closer by the hand that was still enthusiastically gripping his own, "but I won't forgive you again. Don't treat me like that ever again, okay?"

"I won't. I'm sorry," Alfred said, looking miserable again. Not feeling overly sympathetic, Matthew returned to his seat.

"Don't be sorry, just don't be that kind of person. It's not cool," Matthew said. Alfred nodded and gripped his book bag anxiously.

"So...we're okay?" he asked hopefully.

"No. I've forgiven you. That doesn't change the fact that we've hardly hung out since school started and that you really hurt my feelings. Try being a better friend for awhile and then maybe we'll be okay," Matthew said, staring determinedly at his sandwich so that he didn't see Alfred crying again.

Alfred had to learn to take responsibility for his behavior. Matthew, unlike the rest of the world, wasn't going to fall over himself and grovel to be in Alfred's good graces.

"I'll try harder. I'm sorry," Alfred said again, though he seemed to catch his mistake and winced. Matthew just shot him an annoyed look and Alfred bit his lip.

"I'll let you guys eat your lunch then. Err...maybe we could hang out this afternoon?" Alfred suggested weakly. Matthew, however, was already shaking his head.

"I've got something to do tonight. Maybe later this week."

"A-alright. Bye, Matthew," Alfred said. It was the first time he hadn't shortened Matthew's name to the more affectionate "Mattie" in months, and Matthew was surprised how sharply it stung. He began to feel bad. He'd been too harsh with Alfred, and he was holding onto a grudge too long. He should just tell the other boy that all was forgiven. Why was he suddenly being cruel and vindictive?

"Stop beating yourself up, Matt. I know it's hard, but it'll do him some good. If you forgive him like it never happened, he'll be less likely to remember this the next time he starts to do something stupid," Alex grunted.

Deciding Alex was probably right, Matthew continued to quietly eat his lunch, his thoughts wrapped up in what exactly he expected from Alfred before he'd truly be able to let the hurt feelings go.

Alfred headed out of the cafeteria, ignoring the calls from his football buddies, but tossing them a bright, fake smile to set them at ease. He walked the halls a bit aimlessly, feeling the large lunch he'd eaten sit in his stomach like a brick. Maybe it was from getting the cold-shoulder from Mattie, but whatever it was, Alfred felt like he was going to be sick.

"Come in here—_quick_!" a voice suddenly said. He was tugged off course and into the girl's bathroom, of all places. He was a little surprised to see Michelle, puffing on a cigarette and half in the process of re-applying her eyeliner.

"Michelle...why are we in the girl's bathroom? I'm a guy, in case you hadn't noticed," Alfred said half-heartedly. He didn't really much care about where he was at the moment.

"You don't look so good. You know we leave for our shoot in just two weeks. What did you eat for lunch?" Michelle asked, poking his protruding stomach accusingly. Feeling insecure, Alfred protectively wrapped his arm around his stomach.

"What I usually eat. I've been trying to cut back some..." Alfred trailed off. Michelle studied him for a moment and then went to her purse, where she retrieved a plastic bag filled with unmarked pills. She took out two.

"Here, these will help. They're dieting pills," she said. Alfred, remembering the drug scandal in his freshman year, eyed them warily.

"They're safe and legal, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, totally. All the models take them. You want to look good in the commercial, right? I mean, you're going to be in nothing but a towel," she reminded. The reminder was all it took. Alfred moved to the sink and cupped some water in his hands to swig down with the pills.

"You might get diarrhea. That means the pills are working," Michelle said casually as she expertly lined her lower lid.

"I tried to talk to Matthew," Alfred said glumly.

"Good. How'd it go?" Michelle asked. Alfred felt the tears threaten again.

"He said...I'd have to try harder. I apologized but I guess it wasn't enough," Alfred practically whimpered.

"It never is, not really," Michelle replied harshly, though she seemed sympathetic. "Once you hurt someone, they don't ever forget. You can try to make it better, but those scars are still there. That's how my mom is. I swear, she remembers every fucking thing I've ever said to her. It's all okay until she's pissed, and then all the accusations come out—just like Matthew did at the club meeting."

"It really sucks," Alfred complained.

"Yeah, but I guess that's life." After a moment of studying Alfred's utterly devastated expression she added, "But if he's really a good friend, he'll get over it. Just be really nice to him for awhile."

"I'll try, but I mean, I have a lot on my plate, you know? I've got practice every day 'cause of the Homecoming game, and I'm in the court so I'm doing all the stuff for that, and I'm behind on school work because of the funeral. I want to fix things, but I can't just drop everything and follow after Mattie wasting time. If I screw up in this game, I'm gonna be crap all year..._again. _Just _one_ year I want to actually be good. I train so hard and I worked my ass off this summer..."

"Clearly not enough of it. Why do you think you're gaining weight?" Michelle asked. Alfred was startled by the question. Arthur had assured him that he wasn't, but for weeks now Alfred had felt bloated and pudgy.

"Y-you noticed it?" he asked.

"Why do you think I gave you those pills? You should probably take some more for later. If you can't get your diet under control, you're going to need them," Michelle said, finally finishing off her eye makeup. She surveyed her work, and seemed pleased that she'd achieved the perfect smokey eye. She turned to face Alfred, studying him critically.

"You're skin is breaking out, too. Have you had acne problems before?" she asked. Alfred blushed in embarrassment.

"I did really bad last year. I thought it cleared up in the summer."

"Looks like it's coming back. I can give you some stuff for that, too. That stuff _isn't_ legal, though. At least, you can't buy it at the drug store. It'll flush your pores, though, and you definitely won't get acne."

"I don't know..." Alfred was now studying some suspicious red spots near his hairline nervously in the mirror.

"I'd just use it leading up to the shoot if it were me. The acne isn't a problem unless you're going to be working," Michelle reasoned. She handed him a tube, also not labeled. "Use a squirt about the size of a dime."

"Okay," Alfred said, putting the tube into his backpack as well as the bag of diet pills.

"I'm gonna go. I'm getting lunch with my agent. You good now?" she asked. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, thanks," he said. Michelle nodded, smiled and then headed towards the door.

"Just remember—you're going to get sick in about thirty minutes or so. It'll hurt, but it's normal. Tough it out if you don't want to look like a fatass on national television."

"Right," Alfred said, biting his lip again. He glanced at his reflection once more. He'd changed so much and so quickly over the past year that he sometimes didn't even recognize himself. Who was the model staring back at him? What sort of guy was he? Was the old Alfred still there somewhere, underneath the surface, or was that Alfred gone for good?

He suddenly had a flashback to racing around the house in his underwear, with a table cloth tied to his shoulders, chasing after his poor cat. He lived for the newest release of his favorite comic book, and he spent hours organizing the best possible deck of cards to play against a fictional opponent, since he'd never had any friends back then.

Was that boy still inside him somewhere, with his cherished beliefs about superheroes and his determination to be someone? Alfred didn't really know anymore.

Feeling lonely, Alfred decided to go find Arthur in the library. Even if he hadn't really told Arthur what was bugging him (he didn't even know how to explain it to himself) Arthur knew something was up. He would kiss his forehead and squeeze his hand and tell him he was perfect and loved. Arthur made him feel amazing, but that feeling didn't come from inside. When Arthur was gone, he felt like a football field once the game was over—big and empty and trashed.

**A/N: **I think some of you expected the Michelle plot line to go in a different direction, but now you can kinda see where I'm aiming it. I also introduced new OCs this chapter. In my mind, Miguel is Guatemala, a nation that has ties to Cuba (Alex). He's going to have more of a role in future chapters. We also met Malik, who is Greenland, part Inuit Indian, and immigrated to the States. Miguel will have a bigger role than Malik, but random info is fun so there ya go. I promised Kiku would have another cameo this chapter, but it didn't really fit in tone-wise. I'll prolly put it in next chapter.


	12. Things Unsaid

**Chapter 12**

The pills kicked in during Mrs. Crispen's Algebra II class. Alfred had begun to feel a little nauseous at first, and then his stomach began to make alarming noises.

"I gotta go!" Alfred yelled rather loudly, startling Ivan who was sleeping next to him. Mrs. Crispen shot him an annoyed look but heard his stomach growl and waved him out of her class to a chorus of giggles. Luckily for Alfred, Arthur didn't share the class with him. Otherwise, he would have never escaped the other boy's fussing.

He was in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes before Mrs. Crispen sent Ivan to come check on him.

"Ugh, what the fuck did you eat?" Ivan grumbled, as he entered the bathroom.

"I'm fine, man, just go back to class!" Alfred gritted out. In truth, he was not fine. His stomach felt like it was tied up in knots and no matter how many times he'd flushed the toilet, he still felt the urge to go. He'd even tried returning to class and had gotten half-way down the hall before he had to waddle back. As sick as he felt, though, the sicker thing was that the cramping, the pain, and the dumping felt strangely good—it was like the damage and the extra calories of his too-large lunch were being forced out of his body. Even as Alfred moaned weakly and clutched his stomach, he knew he'd be using the pills again.

"Should I get the nurse?" Ivan asked, hearing Alfred's weak moan.

"No, I'm okay. It's just a...just a stomach bug," Alfred replied.

"Fine," Ivan grunted, and then he left the bathroom. When Alfred finally returned to class, pale and sweaty, Mrs. Crispen already had a pass ready for him to go to the nurse. She was kind of a hard-ass as a teacher, but she seemed to genuinely care under her tough exterior.

Alfred thanked her for the pass, remained silent while she lectured him about missing make-up work, and then trudged to his next class. He crumpled up the nurse's pass. He figured the worst of it was over. He looked like shit, but he felt good. He felt thinner. If he could manage a work-out after Mr. Allowick's class, he'd be good to go.

As he approached the classroom, he came upon a rather odd sight. Arthur stood in front of an upper-classman, his fists clenched angrily at his sides. He looked furious, and he was half-shouting at the Junior.

"If I catch you at that again, I'll—"

"Arthur, please, it's fine!" Patricia was saying quietly. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment and she clutched at her school bag weakly. Alfred wondered if it would hurt Patty's feelings if he offered her some of the pills—she looked like she'd gained another fifteen pounds over the summer. He tried to look stronger than he felt as he joined the confrontation.

"What's going on here?" he asked, stepping up to Arthur's side and not so subtly shielding him from the taller Junior. The older boy backed off now that Alfred had arrived (which was a strange sensation for Alfred—when did he become big and strong enough to scare off bullies?)

"Eyebrows here is talking mess! I wasn't saying anything. He got all up in my face—"

Alfred didn't hesitate to put a hand on the other boy's chest and give him a light shove.

"For starters, only _I_ get to make fun of my boyfriend's eyebrows. Were you hassling Patricia? Because I'll show you 'getting in your face' if you're being a dick to her," Alfred threatened. The other boy cussed and shoved him back, and the students nearby began to whisper excitedly "Fight!"

"Break it up!" Mr. Allowick shouted, emerging from his classroom.

"Mitchell, get to your classroom. Alfred, Arthur, and Patricia—inside my room NOW," Mr. Allowick ordered. Alfred threw a rude gesture at the Junior, who returned it with a mumbled threat. "NOW!" Mr. Allowick repeated. Mitchell sulked off, looking furious. Still fuming after the confrontation, Alfred protectively looped his arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"You okay, babe?" Alfred asked, pressing a kiss to Arthur's shaggy hair. Arthur blushed at his show of protectiveness but leaned into his embrace for a moment before shoving off his arm.

"I'm perfectly fine, and I'll have you know that I had the situation completely under control," Arthur replied. Grinning a bit weakly (he still felt rather sick) Alfred turned back to Patricia.

"You okay, Patty?" he asked. She gave him a soft smile.

"Yeah...thanks you guys," she said quietly.

"Alfred—" Mr. Allowick began once they were inside his classroom. He closed the door so that no other students would enter.

"I know I'm not supposed to fight, Mr. A, but he was being a jerk and—"

"Alfred, I was only going to say that next time get a teacher...but you boys did a good thing standing up for your friend. I'll see that Mitchell faces disciplinary action, alright, Patricia? He hasn't been harassing you, has he?"

Embarrassed, Patricia just shook her head 'no' and went to her seat, getting out her notes and generally trying to pretend like it hadn't happened. Mr. Allowick patted Arthur on the shoulder.

"You let me know if you see anymore of that going on, okay?" he requested. He had a rather proud smile despite the severity of his words, and Alfred liked the teacher even more for understanding.

"Are you alright, Alfred? You don't look so good," Arthur said as they headed to their seats.

"I'm fine. Lunch just didn't agree with me," Alfred said. Wryly he thought, _'That's the understatement of the century.'_

Arthur stared rather suspiciously at him but let it go for the moment. Alfred unconsciously sighed in relief.

"I heard from Francis during study hall last period. His mother is doing better, and he seems in better health, too," Arthur said. "He asked me something kind of odd, though. He seems very concerned about Michelle, and he specifically requested that you go with her the next time she goes to see her agent. I must admit, I'm not her biggest fan, but he was rather insistent I pass on the message."

"Her agent?" Alfred asked. He remembered Michelle had gone to see her agent during lunch earlier that day, and he realized as the students began to file in for class that she was not present. "She went to see him at lunch, but she should be back. Did something happen?" Alfred asked. Now Arthur looked concerned, too, and they both watched the door anxiously.

"I suppose we should say something to Mr. Allowick," Arthur commented, when the bell rang and Michelle's seat was empty. Alfred agreed, and he was just about to approach Mr. A's desk when the door opened and Michelle came in looking upset. When she'd left for the lunch date, her clothes had been revealing, but fashionable and neat. Now they were rumpled and Alfred thought he even saw a small tear at the hem of her skirt.

"Do you have a tardy pass?" Mr. Allowick asked. Michelle scowled and didn't answer, moving instead to sit in her seat. It didn't appear to be comfortable for her. Mr. Allowick scowled. "I _asked_ for a pass, Michelle," he repeated.

"I don't have one. Just count me fucking tardy and get on with it," Michelle mumbled. Now both Alfred and Arthur were really concerned. True, Michelle seemed to have a pretty bad attitude with most of the teachers, but it was extremely rare that a World Academy student cussed at a teacher. Except for Gilbert, who was always cussing but seemed to spend more time at in-school suspension than he did in class.

"I'll deal with you after class, Michelle. I don't have time for this now," Mr. Allowick said in irritation, before switching off the lights and starting a movie about atoms. Once concealed by darkness, a boy near Michelle made the mistake of reaching over and tugging at the rip in her skirt.

"Who got lucky during lunch?" he whispered with a shit-eating grin. Alfred thought about Mr. Allowick's request and was half-way raising his hand to tell him about the harassment when Michelle handled it herself. She grabbed the boy's finger and bent it backwards until he nearly fell out of his chair and his face went white with pain.

"Hands off the merchandise. You wouldn't know what to do with it even if I gave you a chance—which I won't," Michelle whispered viciously.

"Fucking bitch-slut!" the boy spat back, low enough so that Allowick wouldn't hear. Michelle flipped him the middle finger and went back to texting on her phone under the desk. Arthur and Alfred exchanged worried glances.

After class, Alfred had a familiar, determined look in his eye that Arthur knew all too well.

"Head on back to the room, babe. I'm going to talk to Michelle," Alfred said. Arthur didn't like it, but he could see as well as Alfred that something had happened to the other girl. He had to trust that Alfred only wanted to help. He refused to become jealous or blow things out of proportion as he'd done in the past. It was ridiculously hard to do, but he nodded his head and remained silent, though his mouth was a tense line and his eyebrows knitted together nervously. Alfred's expression softened and, despite being in the middle of the hallway, he gently tilted Arthur's face up and kissed him chastely.

"Don't worry. I just want to help her," Alfred said. He was sincere, and clearly being honest. Arthur could tell when Alfred was lying, and he sensed nothing amiss with his words.

"Right...bloody hero-complex," he grumbled, though he smiled to soften the criticism. Alfred returned the smile and kissed him once more, a little more firmly this time, and then took off in the direction Michelle had headed.

"Do you guys ever get any downtime between saving damsels in distress?" Patty asked with a small smile. Arthur turned to face her, grinning a bit sheepishly.

"It's been an unusually busy day for damsel-rescuing today. Are you sure you're alright?" Arthur asked. Patty shrugged her shoulders.

"It's just high school. It's not supposed to be fun for girls like me," she said glumly. Arthur walked with her, even though he was supposed to go in a different direction.

"Now that's not true. Student council is starting up again soon, and this campus has some interesting new clubs. Aren't you eager to join up?" Arthur asked.

"I wanted to join the Hero Club, but I probably shouldn't. My grades aren't so good. It's only the first month of school, but I'm already falling behind," she huffed in amusement, "Though I got an interesting offer from your little cousin. He told me he'd tutor me," she said with a smile.

"I apologize. Peter is ridiculous with his cockiness and his boasting. You know what they say—little dogs have the biggest bark," Arthur commented. Patty smiled.

"He's cute, and he idolizes you. I know you're really busy, but you might want to spend some time with him. I think he's having a rough time fitting in," Patty said, as if she sympathized with him.

"Of course he is," Arthur grumbled. "He should have never come. He's not old enough and he's thousands of miles from home. I don't know what my aunt was thinking—probably just wanted some peace and quiet."

"He's not _that_ bad," Patty said with a smile. Arthur shot her a look that said "oh-yes-he-is."

"He mixed in some phony marriage registration papers with my school forms while I was out of town. I nearly signed them, too. I still haven't figured how he broke into my room, but my favorite pair of boxers are missing. He's a strange, strange child," Arthur insisted. Patty winced and laughed.

"Yeah, I guess that is a bit weird. Maybe he just needs some friends his own age?" she offered.

"Possibly. I'll have to do some research and find out if I can get him on a local sports team or something. Between him and Alfred, I never get a moment of peace," Arthur complained. Patty's expression turned sad again.

"But it's nice...isn't it? To be so cherished?"

A little caught off-guard, Arthur could only shrug his shoulders and nod. "Well, I suppose...that is to say, Alfred does have his good moments...and Peter can be cute...but only sometimes."

Patty was at her dorm room, so she surprised Arthur with a quick hug. "Thanks again," she said. She added, "Don't study too hard trying to catch up. I'll see ya around."

"Yeah, see you," Arthur replied. He frowned a bit at her closed dorm room door. Was it just him, or was everyone having a rough start to the year? Francis with his father, Matthew and Alfred fighting (and Alfred's weird moods lately), Ivan's family having to flee Russia, and the strange problem of Michelle...it was all rather worrisome and distracting.

Arthur sighed. He supposed he'd just have to take it one day at a time. It was all he could do, really. He had enough to worry about with grades and school obligations alone, much less running around like Alfred tended to do, trying to solve all the problems of his friends.

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Matthew had seen blessedly little of Gilbert since the start of term. He'd been very busy with Alex, and now with hockey practices and all the new friends he was making on the team. So it was with some surprise when he left the rink that evening to catch the bus, and found Gilbert waiting for him.

Well, he claimed he wasn't waiting. There was a skate park nearby and Gilbert said he'd just happened to be in the neighborhood. Of course, that excuse always sounded a bit phoney.

"Why are you _really_ here, Gilbert? Do you need tutoring again?" Matthew asked. He hiked his hockey gear bag up further on his shoulder, and yawned tiredly. Practice had worn him out. Gilbert rolled around him on his skateboard, seemingly just wasting time.

"I don't need tutoring. I mean, I _need_ tutoring, but I'm not going unless it's mandatory. I'm actually doing better, though. That hard ass Ludwig is forcing me to study—that's why I'm not going back to the dorms just yet," Gilbert said with a conspiratorial grin. Matthew smiled and appreciated how handsome Gilbert looked in the moonlight, just a little sweaty with no shirt on, his dark jeans riding low on his hips and his boxers peeking out.

"So you came to hang out with me instead?" Matthew concluded. Gilbert smirked and shrugged, as if he refused to voluntarily admit that he'd sought out Matthew for companionship.

"I was just in the 'hood," Gilbert insisted. Matthew rolled his eyes and gave Gilbert a gentle shove as he passed by, causing the other boy to evacuate his board inelegantly.

"Hey!" Gilbert shouted. Matthew just smirked.

"That was payback—for pushing me off the last time you gave me a skateboarding lesson."

"You've got a sense of humor. I like that in fuck buddy," Gilbert replied, with his best, most charming smile. Matthew chuckled.

"I knew you were after something. I'm not interested in a one-night stand, Gilbert," Matthew said.

"Come on...your boyfriend's out of town...probably won't ever come back!" Gilbert persuaded. Matthew was almost to the bus stop.

"He's not my boyfriend anymore. He's—"

"Then we don't have any issues! Drama-free. I like that," Gilbert said. He popped a trick on his board and landed it expertly. Matthew pretended he wasn't impressed and that the sight of Gilbert on his skateboard didn't make him want to do naughty things to the other boy. It wasn't easy. His lavender eyes kept gravitating down Gilbert's faint six-pack, like magnets, towards the rather tempting cock currently tucked away.

"Come on, teddy-bear. You know you want me again. Didn't I do you right last time?" Gilbert asked. Matthew nearly moaned at the memory. Gilbert had definitely done him right, and even remembering it caused need and want to spark over his nerve endings and thrum at the base of his spine. He remembered all too well being spread wide, reclining against Francis (who whispered sweet little nothings in his ear and sucked on his earlobe, tweaking and playing with his nipples) while Gilbert had fucked him hard and fast.

"Earth to Matthew," Gilbert said teasingly. If his devilish grin was anything to go by, Gilbert knew exactly where Matthew's thoughts were going.

"Why me? I thought you were straight," Matthew accused, flustered.

"Yeah...I've been thinking—don't give me that look! I _am_ capable of thinking!" Matthew grinned. They reached the bus stop and Gilbert kicked his board up. "Well...maybe I'm not so straight. Because, and this totally _gay_, but I've been...err...thinking about you a lot. I think I might like you...or some girly shit like that."

"Wow, Gilbert. Be still my beating heart," Matthew said sarcastically. It was Gilbert's turn to roll his eyes.

"Fine. You want romance? I'm _awesome_ at romance." Gilbert then dramatically dropped to one knee. He pulled off one of his big metal rings, one with a red skull on it, and presented it to Matthew as if he were proposing.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked with a laugh. He couldn't help it—he just couldn't take the other boy seriously. Gilbert, however, cleared his throat and posed his question very somberly.

"Matthew Williams...will you be my teddy bear? Please do me the honor of accompanying me to the Homecoming dance, where I will _not_ spike the punch and will instead devote my entire evening to ensuring you have the time of your life." Gilbert finished his proposal by offering a teasing wink.

Matthew was a little startled. He tried to laugh it off, but when he began to walk past, Gilbert grabbed his hand rather tightly. The joking look was gone.

"Hey...I'm trying here. I know I'm a dick and I'm not exactly boyfriend material, but this is hard for me to admit. I'm saying I like you. Don't treat me like a joke."

"Gilbert, I—"

"If you tell me you're already dating that Cuban guy I'm gonna be seriously pissed. I mean, come on, dude! You were only single for like, a month!"

"It's not that. Alex and I are just friends," Matthew said, though a little voice inside instantly whispered, _'But I wish we were more than that.'_

The look Gilbert gave him was skeptical. Matthew frowned. "I mean it. We're just friends."

"So then your answer is?" Gilbert reminded, holding out the ring once more. Matthew looked adorably confused for a moment but then he shook his head, as if in disbelief over his own decision, and let Gilbert slide the ring onto his hand. It was a little big, but it would stay on if he was careful.

The bus rolled up and the doors opened. Gilbert stood, not bothering to dust off his pants, and gave Matthew a big, beaming smile.

"Awesome! I've never been a boyfriend before. So, like, when do we get to the lovemaking?"

Matthew rolled his eyes, but the ring felt good on his finger and his confidence boosted even higher.

"Let's not rush anything," Matthew said. Those turned out to be famous last words.

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The football field was dark and Matthew could only grin in rebellious excitement as they crept up to the locked gate.

"Gilbert, we really shouldn't do this," Matthew said. Gilbert tugged his hockey gear off his shoulder and left it at the gate. He tossed his skateboard down beside it and then eyed the fence. He took a running jump and propelled himself up fairly high on the chain-link, and proceeded to climb it quickly, like a monkey—all lean muscles stretching and glistening in the moonlight. Once Gilbert was on the other side, he pulled a ring of keys from his back pocket and tried six or seven of them in the padlock.

"Got it!" he said in triumph, when the padlock clicked open.

"Gilbert, do I even want to know why you have a ring of school keys?" Matthew asked. Gilbert just grinned at him through the fence.

"Nope!" He opened the door then, discarding the heavy chain onto the grass. "After you, teddy-bear," he said gallantly, waving Matthew out onto the field.

"Can I ask why we're sneaking onto the football field?" Matthew asked. Gilbert casually laced their hands together as they began to walk (Matthew blushed at that, and he was surprised to see a small blush on Gilbert's cheeks, too).

"We're going to make out under the bleachers. That's what bleachers are for, right?" Gilbert asked. Matthew snorted in amusement.

"I'm pretty sure they're for sitting on."

"_I'm _pretty sure they're for fucking under," Gilbert replied.

"Do you ever think of anything other than sex?" Matthew asked.

"Sometimes I think about how fucking adorable you are. Like when you were tutoring me last year, or when you get all serious in class, reading your books and shit, and you twirl your hair around your finger."

"...really?" Matthew asked, a little surprised. Gilbert shrugged, trying to play it off.

"So what? I'm sure you think about how awesome I am all the time," Gilbert replied with false bravado. Matthew grinned.

"Maybe...only sometimes," Matthew said.

"And do you like me?" Gilbert prompted. He'd led Matthew to a soft patch of grass growing to seed underneath the bleachers. It was lit by slanting lines of moonlight, and a few little wildflowers grew amongst the tumble of grass and soft weeds. It wasn't a bed covered in rose petals, but Matthew thought it looked rather inviting.

"This year...I hadn't thought much about you until you came to walk me home after hockey practice."

"I was just in the neighborhood—" Gilbert tried to claim again. Matthew turned, tugging Gilbert to a stop. He leaned in close to the taller boy and tilted up his lips, so that his words brushed Gilbert's mouth teasingly when he spoke.

"You have a crush on me, Gilbert," Matthew said. He even smirked a little, "And you've had one on me ever since I tutored you. You can admit it."

"You aren't stuttering anymore. You seem kinda...different...like how you were in the shack that one time," Gilbert said, leaning in closer and slanting his mouth slightly. Matthew licked his lips.

"This time I feel strong and confident all on my own. I'm making some changes this year," Matthew said with quiet resolve. Gilbert grinned.

"I've noticed. It's kinda badass," Gilbert praised.

"I know," Matthew said. Then, he boldly stretched onto his tip-toes and kissed Gilbert rather passionately. He slipped his tongue into the other boy's mouth and pressed his hands against Gilbert's bare chest. Gilbert returned the kiss enthusiastically, and his hands immediately latched onto Matthew's ass. Gilbert squeezed the firm, round buttocks and rolled his hips against Matthew's. The Canadian teen gasped into the kiss, and Gilbert took advantage of the moment to dominate the kiss. All the while, he continued to squeeze and caress Matthew's ass, rolling his hips until an impressively big cock was hard and needy against Matthew's belly.

Matthew tried to slow them down. He pulled away from the kiss but could not escape the circle of Gilbert's arms, nor could he quite manage to stop his own rutting against Gilbert's muscular thigh—but it was only because it had been _so_ long since he'd been properly fucked, and he hadn't even masturbated because of sharing a room with Alex.

"We need—to—stop!" Matthew panted. The humid, late summer air was hot around their bodies and it made Matthew begin to sweat.

"Take your jeans off, teddy-bear," Gilbert replied instead. He moved his open-mouthed kiss to the side of Matthew's neck, where he wetly suckled and licked. Matthew bit his lip and tried to think of un-arousing things, but it was simply impossible. His fingers moved to the button on his jeans and he was fumbling with his zipper and giving himself a good rub as he pushed his pants down to the ground. Gilbert guided him backwards, towards the grassy spot, and Matthew nearly tripped over his pants. With some effort, he managed to get his feet free and abandon the jeans in a messy pile. Gilbert was already pulling down his briefs, and the realization that he was about to have sex outside, with _Gilbert_, who was now using his taunt of "teddy-bear" in a soft, longing way, was enough to make Matthew rock hard.

"There we go...lie down," Gilbert said roughly. Matthew did as Gilbert asked, delighting at the feel of the cool grass on his skin. He toed off his shoes and socks, and spread his legs a bit, running his hands over the bed of grass and little yellow flowers.

"_Fuck_," Gilbert hissed admiringly as he dropped his own pants and gave himself a few long, hard strokes. Matthew gulped at the reminder of just how big Gilbert really was and the memory of that long cock deep inside his tight hole. It had hurt, but in a fantastic sort of way. He'd felt full and painfully stretched, but so thoroughly well-fucked that when Gilbert had emptied his load and pulled out, Matthew had almost whimpered for him to return.

Now he was back, and this time there was no Francis in the picture to make Matthew feel guilty about his pleasure. He spread his legs a little wider and arched his head back, shaking his sweaty curls off his face.

"Shirt off," Gilbert instructed next, as he removed his skater shoes. Matthew obeyed that command too, and his nipples instantly hardened when a cooling breeze rolled under the bleachers, caressing their hot, sweaty skin.

Gilbert dropped to his knees then and crawled forward, stretching out above Matthew and kissing him deeply once more. Matthew rolled his hips forward, seeking that wonderful friction, and moaned in lusty delight when Gilbert worked a spit-slick finger between their bodies and probed at his tight hole.

"It's been awhile?" Gilbert asked, his voice clearly sounding appreciative.

"Mmm...all summer," Matthew replied a little bashfully. Gilbert pushed the finger in at Matthew's statement, and caused the smaller boy to gasp out the last word so that "summer" sounded about two octaves higher than Matthew's normal range.

Without waiting long, Gilbert added a second finger, pushing and twisting and scissoring, until he found Matthew's sweet spot and began to mercilessly tease him. Matthew dug his nails into the dirt and moaned wantonly, uncaring of anyone who might hear.

"Gilbert!" he cried.

"Tell me what you want, teddy-bear," Gilbert whispered huskily. Matthew blinked the rolling beads of sweat out of his eyes and pushed his lips against Gilbert's.

"Fuck me..._please!_"

And then Matthew got exactly what he asked for and more. He nearly whimpered at the burn of suddenly having Gilbert's huge head push inside him. He lay back, arched his hips up and tried to spread wide and relax at the same time. The grass felt so good against his skin that he stretched his arms above his head and grabbed fistfuls. Gilbert began to sink his moistened dick in deeply, past Matthew's tight ring of muscle, till Matthew felt like he was surely going to split in two.

"You're so...fucking..._damn!_" Gilbert grunted once he was fully seated, and he took a moment just to pant heavily and stare at the picture Matthew made all stretched out before him with his arse full of cock and his pretty little dick bobbing against his belly. Gilbert indulgently stroked his hands up and down Mathew's chest, over the slight concave of his stomach and through the downy soft little hairs leading to his arousal. He pushed his hands up again, up and up, over Matthew's wildly racing pulse in his neck, over his plump lips. "Suck," Gilbert ordered.

"Mmm," Matthew moaned, taking the digits into his mouth and wetting them with his tongue. When Gilbert had his fingers moist, he dragged them down Matthew's narrow chest once more, and proceeded to tease Matthew's nipples until they were swollen and pebbled.

"_Please_..._move_..._fuck me!_" Matthew begged, tossing his head in the grass. He'd adjusted to the full feeling in his ass and now he wanted friction. He wanted to be fucked hard and made to feel dirty and abused. The kinky thrill of it all electrified him. Gilbert answered his plea and began to slowly slide in and out, clearly in no hurry, and his devilish smirk reminded Matthew that Gilbert may have been a terrible student, but he was _very_ good at fucking.

It was going to be a long, _long_ night.

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"Alfred..." Arthur said quietly, in that serious tone Alfred knew all too well. Alfred sighed and put down his math text book.

"What is it?" he asked.

"What happened with Michelle?" Arthur asked. Alfred had returned late to their shared room—it was nearly ten—and he'd offered no insight into what he and Michelle had discussed all afternoon. Arthur felt like he was on pins and needles. Hadn't he been trusting? Hadn't he let Alfred go alone? Didn't he deserve some reassurance?

"I...I can't say, Arthur. It's not my place," Alfred said. "She trusted me."

Arthur felt his mood darken. Shouldn't that be his line? _'I trusted you, too,' _he thought bitterly.

"Nothing happened?" he asked, with feigned casualty. Alfred stared at him for a long moment, but then turned his eyes back down to his math book with a quiet sigh.

"No, Arthur. Nothing happened," he said. His defeated tone made Arthur feel like a prick for asking, but damn it all, Alfred knew he didn't handle jealousy well. Why was he making it so hard on him?

"It's just that she's getting quite the reputation, and it's not unreasonable to—"

"To what? To think I'd cheat on you? Am I really that lousy of a boyfriend?" Alfred asked, sounding hurt. They sat on the beds on opposite sides of the room, but Arthur felt like they were miles and miles apart. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Something's wrong, Alfred. I don't know what it is, but something is off about you," Arthur said. Alfred scowled, but he didn't say anything. He suddenly became very interested in his math work. Knowing he was just digging himself further into the hole, Arthur pressed onwards.

"You're acting oddly, and you're fighting with Matthew, and you're so interested in Michelle's problems—"

"Why does it keep coming back to Michelle? I just freaking told you I'm NOT sleeping with her! What more can I say? Is there something I'm not doing, Artie? Just say it. I'm not having sex with you as much? Because I'm exhausted? And I'm trying not to fail, because I'm behind, because I flew out to freaking _FRANCE_ because _YOU_ said you needed me! What am I not doing that's not enough? Just say it and stop wasting my time! I'm trying to do my fucking Algebra homework!" Alfred snapped. Under his hand, his clenched fingers slightly crinkled the page of his math book.

Arthur scowled. "You're being a tosser, Alfred," Arthur said in a low, hurt voice. Alfred shook his head like an irritated horse and began to messily pack up his work. He shoved his books carelessly into his backpack.

"Yeah yeah, it's all _my_ fault. I can't do anything right. I'm getting so sick of you..._patronizing_ me! I'm not six! I know I'm stupid but it gets old hearing you tell me all my fucking flaws all the goddamned time!" Alfred heaved the bulging backpack up onto his shoulder.

"Then go! Get the fuck out! If you don't give a bloody fuck then I don't either!" Arthur shouted. He felt utterly mad with frustration, and to prevent himself from crying, he picked up nearby paperback novel and heaved it at Alfred's retreating back. "Fuck you!" he shouted. The book bounced harmlessly off the athlete's shoulder, but Alfred spun around with a disbelieving look on his face.

"Don't you dare throw shit at me!" he yelled.

"Then don't fucking deserve it!" Arthur shouted back. He was standing now, fists clenched tightly at his sides, his green eyes livid.

They stared at each other stonily for a few solid minutes and then Alfred turned his scowl to the floor.

"I think...until my commercial...we should take a break from each other. I've got too much I have to do right now. I don't have time to deal with this," Alfred said. He sounded on the verge of tears, but his voice was also strong, and resolute.

Arthur stopped breathing. His green eyes widened with absolute hurt and betrayal.

"Are you...are you breaking up with me?" he asked hollowly. Alfred's fists clenched around his backpack straps.

"Don't put words in my mouth. I just said I think we need some time apart."

"To see other people?" Arthur accused with narrowed eyes. Alfred's irritation returned and he banged his fist against the wall.

"I'm _not_ interested in Michelle! Or anyone else! Why can't you get that through your skull? This isn't about wanting to cheat!" Alfred insisted. Arthur considered him a long moment before he tossed his head angrily.

"Bullshit. Get out. I don't want to see your face either."

"Ugh, I don't know why I thought you would understand. Just...don't talk to me. I'm seriously pissed with you right now," Alfred said vindictively. Arthur just sneered.

"Get the fuck out then! I'm not begging you to stay!" At nearly the same time, Arthur thought desperately, _'Please, Alfred...don't walk through that door.'_

Alfred hesitated. His hand rested on the door knob, and both of them knew that if he walked away, they might not ever fix things back to the way they were before.

"Just leave..." Arthur said quietly, with ferocious intensity. Something seemed to break inside Alfred and he was abruptly gone, the door slammed firmly shut behind him. Arthur immediately broke into giant, heaving sobs. "Just leave before I beg you not to go," Arthur finished, as he sunk onto the nearby bed and smothered his tears into the pillow.

**A/N: **I think some evil laughter would be appropriate right now. ;) Sorry again for no Kiku. His scene is actually fluffy and (as you could tell) this wasn't exactly a fluffy chapter. Next time...maybe.


	13. The Fag Hags

**Chapter 13**

Matthew held up the pair of pants against his waist and considered them. They were fairly pricey, and his parents didn't give him that much allowance.

"Get 'em, teddy bear. They'll make your ass look awesome," Gilbert offered. Alex grinned in amusement when Matthew began to blush darkly with color. Embarrassing as it was to go anywhere in public with Gilbert (he was a steady stream of cussing, lewd remarks, and whiny complaints), Alex and Gilbert actually got along quite well. Alex seemed to find Gilbert funny, and didn't care about the fact that Gilbert was filthy rich because Gilbert was the total opposite of preppy snob. This became apparent when he told them he didn't need to buy an outfit.

"I hit up the thrift stores and found a pimp suit. It still smells like hooker perfume," Gilbert boasted. Matthew winced and Alex cracked up at the expression on Matthew's face.

"You're _loco_," Alex complimented. Gilbert just grinned and fished out a rather revealing top intended for a girl.

"How 'bout this one?" he asked. Matthew sighed.

"You suck at shopping. First of all, that's a woman's top. Someone just put it back in the wrong place. Secondly, it's cheaply made. Hardly worth the investment. Look at the seams—they're already unraveling. If you're intending for _me_ to wear that, the cut and color is all wrong. Yellow would clash with my eyes." Matthew squinted his eyes at the garment even more critically, "And it looks like it's a silk _blend_—for that price it should be all silk."

Both Alex and Gilbert stared at him, looking mildly concerned. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"I dated Francis Bonnefoy for a year. I _know_ how to shop." Both his companions just snickered at him. Matthew was distracted away from their conversation by his phone beeping. He pulled it out and his eyes widened in shock.

_**Arthur Kirkland: Alfred broke up with me last night. Do you know what's going on with him? I think he's messing around with Michelle.**_

"What is it?" Gilbert asked nosily.

"Arthur and Alfred broke up last night. Arthur seems really confused by it and he thinks...he thinks Alfred is sleeping with _Michelle,_" Matthew said.

"Uh-oh. The gay golden couple is done. The school might implode," Gilbert joked casually, clearly not concerned at all. Alex just shrugged and grinned at Gilbert's remark.

"Alfred is a dumb ass. It doesn't surprise me that he'd mess up a good thing with Arthur. Arthur's too good for him," Alex said dismissively.

Matthew, however, was much more disturbed by the news. He thought of all the harsh things he'd said to Alfred not even a week ago—how he'd told him he had to be a better friend. Now Alfred was breaking up with Arthur? All of Matthew's protective instincts were screaming at him to find Alfred. Even if they weren't as close as they used to be, the bond he had with Alfred ran deeply inside his heart. He could be mad at him, but he couldn't just forget about him.

_**Matthew Williams: I'll find him. Try not to worry, Arthur.**_

He texted Arthur back and then firmly put the jeans back on the rack.

"I'll have to shop some other time. Sorry to bail, guys, but I've got to go find Alfred."

"Why_, socio_? He treated you like a—"

"Alex, I know. I know Alfred isn't perfect, and I know you're a better friend, and I know he doesn't deserve it because he was a shitty friend when Francis dumped me...but I might be the only person Alfred has left that can reach him who genuinely cares. Michelle might have ruined _my_ relationship, but I'm not going to let her ruin Arthur's. He doesn't deserve that, just like I didn't. Maybe I can make Alfred see sense. I have to try," Matthew asserted confidently.

Gilbert and Alex exchanged a look. Then Alex smiled, and Gilbert casually looped his arm around Matthew's shoulders.

"Okay, teddy bear. We hear ya'," Gilbert said soothingly.

"I can't believe I'm saying this...but we'll help you find him. Three sets of eyes are better than one. I'll check the cafeteria."

"Thanks, guys. This really means more to me than—"

"Mattie, stop. It's just what friends do," Alex replied, ruffling his hair with a casual grin before ambling out of the store. Gilbert flashed his quirky little half-smile and pressed a kiss against Matthew's lips quickly.

"I'll take my board and go around the school. If I spot him, I'll text, okay?"

"I'll check the gym. I have a feeling that's where he'll be," Mattie said. "I'll try texting him, too, but I doubt he'll reply."

By the time they'd reached the school, Alfred hadn't replied, and Ivan hadn't seen him either when Matthew called. He offered to join in on the search, though, but a screaming toddler in the background and the sound of Yao fussing in angry Chinese made Matthew think the Russian had enough on his plate at the moment.

"Don't worry, I'll find him. Gilbert and Alex are helping me look," Matthew said, before saying goodbye and hanging up his phone. Gilbert kissed him lightly once more and then jogged off to get his skateboard. Alex waved and headed towards the cafeteria.

Matthew nodded determinedly to himself and set off in the direction of the gym.

He entered the massive, sunny room with its hard rubber floor and it's crisp white walls. The burnt orange basketball goals gleamed with polish and the wooden bleachers reflected the sunlight. For now, the scoreboard was dark, but Matthew could almost hear the history of squeaking shoes and the booming noise of the buzzer filling the space. Feeling tiny, he crossed the large gym and headed towards the hallway that connected it to the dressing rooms and the smaller fitness rooms.

Alfred wasn't in the weight room like Matthew had suspected, and for a moment, he felt like maybe he didn't know his friend as well as he thought he did. However, when he walked one room down, he found Alfred running hard on a treadmill. He was struck by how lean his friend looked. When he'd returned from football camp over the summer, Alfred had been lean but packed with muscle. He'd had the perfect build to be the ultimate quarterback. Now, however, he had a sunken look about his normally chubby cheeks, and his calves and forearms seemed skinny.

Matthew watched him awhile, knowing sometimes it was better to be patient. He waited in the shadows, ghost-like, just observing. Alfred was running hard, and he wasn't stopping. Matthew's lavender eyes flickered to the clock—11:20. Alfred was fit, but surely even he wouldn't sprint so hard for more than ten minutes or so. The clock ticked aggressively fast, as if challenging Matthew's claim. Besides, he had no idea how long Alfred had already been running before he'd appeared.

Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. A full twenty.

_'This is crazy_. _It can't be good for him to do so much_.' Matthew firmly opened the door and his presence wasn't even noticed. Alfred's eyes were zeroed in on the front of his machine, like a lion stalking a gazelle.

As Matthew came up on his side, he realized what his friend was watching—the calorie counter.

_'Shit_,_' _Matthew thought. It made sense. Alfred was about to be in a big commercial where he'd be practically nude. He was worried about losing weight. It was a natural enough worry, but not for someone like Alfred—he'd looked healthier at the end of summer. Clearly, he was having some body issues.

"Hey Alfred," Matthew greeted calmly. Startled, the blue-eyed boy lost his rhythm and would have gone hurtling off the treadmill but Matthew quickly pulled the magnetic key and the machine harmlessly slowed down. Alfred stumbled a bit, but he caught himself with the balance of an athlete.

He was panting too hard to speak, so for a long time he just stood bent over, breathing hard. Matthew's suspicions that Alfred was pushing himself too hard were confirmed. Helpfully, he fetched a towel and a bottle of water. Alfred took the towel and mopped off the buckets of sweat but declined the water.

Matthew's eyes narrowed suspiciously. _'He doesn't want the water weight,'_ he realized.

"H-hey, Mattie! How have you been? Did you come to get a work out in? I can spot you if you want," Alfred huffed. He had a big, fake smile on his face that would have fooled anyone else except Matthew and Arthur.

"I know you broke up with Arthur, Alfie," Matthew said calmly. Alfred's smile stayed firmly in place.

"We didn't break up. Arthur's just being dramatic," Alfred dismissed casually. He moved to a nearby bench and collapsed there, looking exhausted and half-starved.

"Fine, but I think we have a bigger issue now," Matthew said. He glanced at the few other runners in the gym. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"Is this about our fight? I know I haven't made much time to hang out with you. I really am sorry, Mattie. I promise that I—"

"Alfred, just stop. Let's walk a bit, okay? You need a cool-down, anyway, don't you?" Matthew reminded. Finally beginning to look a little confused (and Alfred always looked utterly pathetic when he was confused) Alfred stood on trembling legs and simply nodded. The smile was gone, and that made Matthew relieved. They wouldn't get anywhere if Alfred was trying to prove he was fine.

They walked out of the fitness room, down the hall, and back outside. The fall air was crisp and cool, the leaves were a riot of browns and yellows and reds, and all in all, it was a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day for a walk, and for just a moment, Matthew's heart ached for Francis.

He knew, if he'd been Arthur instead of himself, that he would have started talking or lecturing. Arthur got impatient with Alfred a lot of the time, because simply put, Arthur was more mature than Alfred. What seemed obvious to Arthur was usually way over Alfred's head or emotional range. It was possible that Alfred was messing around with Michelle, but now that Matthew had thought about it, it didn't seem likely.

So he waited, and they walked. Alfred cracked in about six minutes.

"I've been trying to get ready for this commercial. At first I was excited about it, but then my mom started harping on me to practice the lines because it's my _first_ one, ya know, and if I mess it up I probably won't book another job. My grades aren't that great—hell, I probably won't even graduate at this rate—so unless I want to work at McDonalds or something, this _has_ to go well. It's a commercial and a magazine spread. If it was just the magazine, it wouldn't be that big of a deal because they could edit out acne spots and a little big of fat, but the commercial is gonna be brutal. They say the camera adds ten pounds, too, and it's _totally_ true. I practiced videotaping myself yesterday and I look like a total fatass. Coaches are trying to bulk me up and my mom and Michelle are trying to help me slim down..." Alfred's long rant was punctuated by a loud, desperate sounding growl from his stomach.

Matthew's heart nearly broke when Alfred blushed, embarrassed, and rubbed anxiously at his sculpted six-pack.

"I'm _so_ hungry," he admitted, in a very small voice.

Matthew stopped and turned, and not caring about the sweat, he stretched onto his toes and gave Alfred a huge, hard hug. It took a moment, but then it came all at once. Alfred began crying hard on his shoulder, clutching him tightly, all his stress and anxiety pouring out of him as if a floodgate had been released. He cried for a solid ten minutes before finally it began to taper down. Alfred's face was a mess of snot and tears, and Matthew had never seen him look so lost and confused.

"You need to eat, Alfred. You're starving yourself. How about I make you some of my world-famous maple syrup pancakes?" Matthew offered. Pathetically, Alfred tried to resist.

"I really can't, Mattie...I want to, but, pancakes are pure carbs and—"

"Alfred, I want you to let all of it go. Let's go back to last year, okay? Were you happier then?" Matthew asked. Alfred looked on the verge of tears again.

"Everything's so messed up this year. I don't even know what I did but somehow it's just...it's just...I hate looking like this! I thought this was what I wanted but I _hate_ it! If I leave the school reporters are everywhere and my pictures are everywhere and I don't even recognize myself anymore! I'm popular, but you're mad at me, and I'm good at sports, but my grades are terrible, and every girl in the school thinks I'm hot, but all I care about is Arthur. But I don't want Arthur to touch me, or even _see _me, because it just makes me hate my body even _more_, and I'm too tired to even...I can't...I'm seventeen, for god's sake—I should be able to get it up for my boyfriend, but I..."

"Alfred, I'm going to help you through this, okay? I really think, though, that you need to tell Arthur that this is what's going on. He's really worried," Matthew said. Alfred firmly shook his head.

"That's _embarrassing_! I don't want to tell him that I can't...anymore. He'll think I'm not attracted to him. He'll say it's because I want to be with Michelle."

Matthew blinked a bit in surprise. Maybe he hadn't given Alfred enough credit where Arthur was concerned—the reaction he'd just described seemed entirely likely. Though he was more mature, Arthur was fiercely jealous by nature, and he was already convinced something was going on behind his back involving Michelle.

"Maybe you're right..." Matthew concluded, looking troubled. Alfred visibly sagged in relief.

"I know I need to talk to him—I _know_ that—but I don't know what to say that won't just make everything worse. Mattie...what if _you_ talked to him?" Alfred asked. "Tell him everything's fine and that I still totally love him, but that I'm just really busy and—and—"

"No, just stop right there. That's not going to work at all. We just need to slow down and _think_ about this. Being impulsive is only going to lead to trouble. Alfred...would it bother you if I called Francis and talked to him about this?"

Alfred looked awkward but shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "If you think he might know what to do..."

"I _know_ he'll know what to do. In the meantime, let's go get something to eat. We'll just get salads, okay?"

"...okay," Alfred replied grudgingly. His stomach gave another grumble. Matthew quickly texted Gilbert and Alex and let them know everything was fine but he needed some time with Alfred. He did the math in his head, adding six hours to the time, and judged it wasn't too late to call Francis. The other boy was still the number one on his speed dial.

_Ring. Ring. Ring. _

"_Hello?" _Francis answered. Matthew smiled just to hear the other boy's voice. Francis would know what to do. He slipped into French automatically, leaving Alfred in the dark, but it was just how he communicated with Francis. It felt good to speak French—natural.

"Hello Francis, how have you been?"

"_Since you called earlier today? Fine," _Francis laughed, and Matthew blushed a little. He supposed he and Francis had been talking on the phone quite a bit. He hadn't told him about Gilbert, but then again, Francis didn't talk about Michelle. It was as if they'd come to a mutual, unspoken agreement not to talk about their love lives.

"Oh, right. Well, I've got a bit of a problem. I'd hoped you could help me out."

"_Problem? You are not in any danger, are you?" _Francis immediately asked, sounding worried.

"No, nothing like that. I...I have a friend. And, um, this _friend _is having relationship problems."

"_Are we actually talking about you?" _Francis asked, sounding a little amused.

"No! I told you it was a _friend_!"

"_A-huh. Alright, go on. What's wrong in the life of your_..._friend?" _Francis asked, with a smile in his tone. Matthew rolled his eyes, but continued on with what he needed to say.

"Well, this _friend_ has a girlfriend who thinks he's cheating. It's really another problem entirely, but she's so obsessed with the idea that he's cheating that he doesn't know how to talk to her about the real problem."

"_That sounds tricky, but who could you possibly be cheating on the Cuban with? It's not Gilbert, is it?" _

"His name's _Alex_, Francis, and stop trying to make this about my life. I _told_ you it wasn't about me," Matthew sounded petulant, and Francis could practically see his pout. He missed that pout.

"_Alright, alright, my dear, I'll believe you. It seems like a simple enough solution. Have your friend do something big—something to show his girlfriend just how much he loves her. When she's reassured of his feelings, then he can talk about the real problem." _

"Does the romantic thing have to involve sex? Because he's so stressed out that he can't...eh...perform."

"_Oh. Now that _is_ a problem. I sincerely hope this isn't about you now,"_ Francis joked. Matthew grinned and rolled his eyes again.

"My cock is working just fine, but thanks for asking," he replied back, a little saucily. Francis grunted in annoyance on the other end of the line.

"Now you're just teasing me. If I was there, I'd—"

"I know, I know. I do miss having you around. Are you ever coming back?"

"_Not yet. My mother needs me here,"_ Francis said quietly. Matthew smiled fondly. Francis cared so passionately about the people he loved. There was nothing that he wouldn't do for them. He'd once cared about Matthew that way, too...perhaps still did, even.

"I understand. Okay, I have to pass on your advice to Alfred—"

"_Oh, so it's Alfred? Poor Arthur..."_

"Crap. I didn't mean to say that!" Matthew said. Francis just laughed, and Matthew realized that was another thing he missed—seeing Francis laugh. He had a great laugh.

"_I promise I won't tease him. I seriously promise. I know how sensitive Alfred is." _

"Thanks, Francis. You're a lifesaver!" Matthew said with a big grin. On the other end of the phone call, Francis crossed to his dresser where he kept a small photo of himself and Matthew in a frame. He touched the glass gently, lovingly, and smiled.

"_Take care, Matthew. I miss you." _

"I miss you, too. Have a good night," Matthew wished. Francis agreed and hung up the phone.

"Did you even talk about my problem? Because that was an awful lot of giggling and blushing and—"

"Do you want my help or not?" Matthew interrupted, with a touch of the aggression he'd developed on the ice rink. Alfred blinked like a startled baby deer and nodded sheepishly. Matthew nodded, satisfied.

"Alright, we need to plan something big, to remind Arthur how much you love him. Then, when he's reassured that you love him and only him, you can talk about your other problem without him thinking you're cheating on him."

"That's brilliant!" Alfred exclaimed, his relief obvious. Mattie grinned.

"So what are you going to do for Arthur?" he asked. "You could do something at the Homecoming dance, maybe..."

"Naw, Arthur doesn't want to go. He's going to some concert that night instead. He wanted me to go with him that night, but I was nominated for Homecoming court and Ashley asked me to go with her since she's nominated for Princess and we pretty much know she and I are going to win. Plus, her parents are friends with _my_ parents, and long story short...my mom's making me take her."

"Alfred...I'll hold Arthur off, but next weekend you shouldn't go to the dance," Matthew schemed.

"But—"

"I know the _new_ Alfred wants to go, and that's what everyone expects you to do, but it's not what the _old_ Alfred would have done. And if you think about it...you know I'm right."

Alfred nodded as they walked into the Subway near the school. Matthew was alarmed when he noticed a crowd of photographers had begun to gather outside, likely trailing them the second they'd left campus. Alfred glanced at them and offered a friendly smile (fake, Matthew noted).

"Don't mind them. They can't get closer than twenty feet."

"Alfred...I'm sorry," Matthew said sincerely, frowning a bit at the tabloid photographers. Now the two twelve year old girls inside the Subway were realizing what was going on and they began to squeal and point. Alfred just ordered his salad as if nothing strange was happening.

"I don't eat out much anymore," he said casually, as the woman making his salad gave him heaps of extras and kept smiling at him. The girls ignored their parents and came racing up to the line, clutching napkins, pens, and cellphones.

"Alfred, we _love_ you _so_ much! You're like, _amazing._ Are you _really_...you know...gay?" They broke into a chorus of giggles. Matthew was mildly horrified. Alfred just took it all in stride and turned around, signing their napkins on auto pilot and making big, silly smiley faces beside his name.

"Yeah, but that's okay. Love is love, right? And I really love Arthur," he said with genuine sweetness. The girls melted into squeals, and boldly launched forward to hug him. He laughed a bit awkwardly and patted their backs.

"I'm glad you like my photos and stuff, but I'm really not that big of a deal," Alfred said modestly.

"You're _so_ hot, though! OMG, I can feel your six-pack!"

"Uh, yeah, thanks...you should probably get back to your parents now, though," Alfred said gently. The girls missed the hint. Turning awkwardly, Alfred finished ordering his salad even as the girls continued to chatter at him. Matthew cleared his throat pointedly, but the girls didn't even notice him.

"Alfred, will you be my friend on Facebook? My name's Jaime, and I'd be _so_ popular if you friended me!"

"Me too!" her friend squealed. Alfred laughed awkwardly again.

"Heh...uh...I would, but I—"

"YES! He said yes, mom! Oh my gosh, Kaitlin is going to be _so_ jealous! I love you forever, Alfred! I'm totally going to marry you some day, even if you _are_ gay."

The flirtatious manager told Alfred him and his friend didn't have to pay, and that they should come back _any_ time. Matthew had never felt so awkward or overexposed in his entire life.

"Let's go back to the school," he said under his breath. Alfred didn't hear him over the squealing girls who were now talking to him about ever rumor they'd ever heard about him ever. Alfred was enduring it all with a strained smile, but he seemed to be on Matthew's wavelength and they didn't stay.

"Sorry, girls, but we've got to go. It was nice talking to you," Alfred said.

"Stay! Please! We love you _so_ much! Please? Please, please, please?" the shorter one begged. Alfred just shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Sorry, really I am, but we gotta go. Enjoy your lunch," and then he stepped quickly outside with Matthew in his shadow, and pulled on his sunglasses smoothly. The cameras began flashing instantly.

"This is _crazy_!" Matthew said in complete aggravation.

"This really isn't that bad. They didn't expect me to be here so there's only a few of them," Alfred said, all with that fake grin on his face. Noting how uncomfortable Matthew looked, Alfred said, "Once we get on school property that have to stop following us."

"THERE ARE RUMORS YOU'RE CHEATING ON ARTHUR—ARE THEY TRUE?" A reporter shouted. Alfred's fake smile dropped and he quickly shook his head. He began to walk quicker.

"ARE YOU TWO DATING NOW?" Another reporter shouted, and Matthew's eyes widened in alarm.

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I should have realized—"

"Let's just go!" And Matthew grabbed Alfred's hand and made a run for it. They sprinted hard, quickly leaving behind the reporters, until they were back on school grounds and hidden amongst the outer buildings and the big, black fence.

"Oh my _god_, that was terrible! Alfred, how on earth do you deal with that?" Matthew asked. Beside him, Alfred just shrugged.

"It's been like that, sorta, since my dad became President. It just got really bad over the summer. It was nice being in London and not really having to deal with it."

"Ugh! I wanted to...to...hit those girls with my footlong!" Matthew as being perfectly serious, but Alfred only stared at him for a second before he burst out laughing. Then Matthew's words sunk into his own ears and he flushed with embarrassment.

"So..._twelve_ inches, huh? Impressive, Mattie."

"You...shut up. I meant my sandwich!" Matthew replied. But it felt better between them, and that alone looked like it took some of the stress off Alfred's already over-burdened shoulders.

* * *

><p>Matthew finished explaining Alfred's situation and then let out a massive sigh. Gilbert's red-tinged eyes were slightly wide.<p>

"Damn," Gilbert said.

"Yeah. So me and Alfred have to think of something romantic to do for Arthur and _I_ have to convince Arthur to hold off for a week without completely hating Alfred..."

"Hmmm...you know I'm awesome at romance, right? I could help," Gilbert said. Matthew rolled his eyes, but gave his boyfriend a smile.

"A-huh," Matthew replied. Gilbert pouted. He grabbed Matthew's hand and kissed the heavy ring that Matthew still wore, even though it looked completely out of place on the other boy.

"I convinced you to go out with me, didn't I?" Gilbert asked challengingly. Matthew nodded.

"I guess you did. So what do you have in mind?" Matthew asked.

"Hmm...I'll have to talk to Roderich, but I just _might_ be able to pull it off..."

"You know Roderich? The piano prodigy?"

"Yeah. You could say we...have a history. Anyway, let me talk to him and see what I can do," Gilbert promised with a wink. "But for now, can we please stop talking about your pussy friend? He's like, the opposite of awesome."

"Oh...okay. Um, what do you want to talk about?" Matthew asked a little uncertain. They were hanging out in Mattie's room, as Alex was in science tutorials and would be gone for at least another hour. Gilbert waggled his eyebrows.

"We're in your room..._alone_...what do you _think_ we should do?" Gilbert asked. Matthew grinned. For a second, he'd been nervous that Gilbert would want to talk about his heavy metal bands or his skateboarding and that Matthew would have nothing to say and the other boy would realize that Matthew wasn't as cool as he was...but it occurred to him then that Gilbert wasn't that complex of a creature. As long as he got one thing, he was happy.

"Gilbert...I'm feeling really...hot," Matthew complained.

"That's not good. You should probably take your shirt off," Gilbert suggested. Matthew grinned and pulled his shirt over his head with teasing slowness. He'd worry about talking to Arthur later. Alone time in the dorm room was a precious commodity, and neither he nor Gilbert were about to waste it.

* * *

><p>Arthur did what he always did when he was upset. He threw himself into his world of books and refused to think about anything else. He was in the library, the day after the fight, when a group of popular girls occupied the table across from him. Arthur vaguely knew who they were through Alfred. They were all cheerleaders, and they were all at the parties Alfred attended with his football chums with clockwork regularity.<p>

_'Where do the find the time to spend every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night partying?'_ Arthur thought bitterly. Still, he held no particular grudge against them. They'd been nice enough to him on the rare occasions he'd gone with Alfred to a party, and Arthur couldn't exactly dislike them just because they were 'popular.' After all, he was dating one of the most popular boys in school now, though he would have never guessed he'd become that way judging by how they'd started a year ago.

That thought made Arthur blink in surprise, and the threat of tears prickled at his eyes.

He and Alfred had known each other for a full year now. Of course, their official anniversary was February 2nd, which had also been the day that Alfred had beaten the crap out of Celio and defended Arthur's honor, but they'd met in September and now they'd known each other a full year.

_'We didn't even make it eight months,'_ Arthur complained in his head. So much for true love.

"I'm going to wear the Versace dress, I think," the tallest, blondest of the three girls said loudly. Arthur scowled.

_'This is a library, you twits,'_ he growled mentally.

"What's Alfred wearing? Will it match?" another girl replied. Arthur's eyes narrowed. He knew Alfred was going to be paired with a girl at the dance because he was likely going to be voted Prince, and a girl would be voted Princess, and he assumed they'd have to share some awkward, cheesy dance, but he'd thought that was the extent of it.

If he was actually _taking_ her to the dance and the game, this was the first Arthur was hearing about it. As if on cue, the girls noticed him behind his stack of books.

"Oh, it's Arthur," Alfred's "date" said sympathetically. Her expression of pity was purely fake and so annoying it made Arthur want to hit her...but he didn't, because he was a gentleman.

"Hello Ashley...and Ashley's friends," he added after a moment of mental floundering and the realization he had no idea who the other girls were. It felt awkward, but the other two girls didn't bat an eye. Apparently, they were accustomed to being defined entirely by the fact that they associated with Ashley Winters.

"Heard about you and Alfred breaking up. That really sucks. I hope it didn't have anything to do with the dance," Ashley said.

"Not at all," Arthur replied with a scowl. He could _be_ polite, but he didn't have to _look_ polite.

"Oh, good. I don't suppose you know what he's wearing to the Homecoming dance, do you? I mean, he's gay, so I'm sure he's not as hopeless as some of the other guys, but _I'm_ wearing a—"

"I don't know what he's wearing. If he's your date, shouldn't you discuss it with him?" Arthur said with a bite to his voice.

"I get it. You must be bitter about getting dumped right before the dance...and he didn't even ask you to go and you're his boyfriend. Harsh," Ashley said. One of her friends tossed her hair.

"But Alfred is _such_ a sweetheart. I mean, it totally wasn't intentional," she said, as if she knew Alfred very well. Arthur shifted his glare to her. Who the fuck was she, talking about Alfred like she knew him?

"Yeah. He's just so cute! I admit it. I'm his total fag hag," the other girl said with an obnoxious giggle. Arthur felt his must-kill meter rising. He had to leave, else he was going to start popping their boob implants with the first pair of scissors he could find.

"Right. I'm afraid I have to be going. Good luck with your studying," Arthur said in his best diplomatic voice. He then gathered up his study aides and left the library to the sounds of their obnoxious chatter.

He was walking down the hall, feeling utterly murderous, when he ran into Matthew.

"Arthur!" Matthew said. Normally, Arthur would have stopped, but he just wasn't in the mood. He needed to be alone.

"Arthur!" Matthew repeated, trying to catch his attention. Refusing to give up, Matthew raised his voice up higher than Arthur thought was even possible and shouted for the whole hall to hear.

"JUST GIVE HIM ONE WEEK, ARTHUR. JUST ONE!" Matthew shouted. Arthur almost paused, because the request was such a bizarre one, but then he furiously told himself that he didn't care.

_'Oh, I'll give him a week. I'll give him all the time he wants away from me. And then when he's ready to come back, I'll give him more time. I refuse to be strung along by him! Asshole!'_ Arthur thought angrily.

But still, something that felt a little like hope lit up in his heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for all the lovely comments, guys! I'm glad you like the PruCan, though Mattie's nowhere near out of the woods yet. On a personal note, I really feel Arthur on this chapter. My girlfriend and I had a secret relationship in high school and she went to her homecoming dance with someone else. I was _so_ jealous. I remember, though, trying very hard to act like it didn't bother me. That story was really pointless, except to say that as the author, even I feel a little bad for what I'm putting Arthur through.

Oh, and Ashley Winters is just another OC. I'd make her a country, but there's not a place on earth that fake and evil, lol.


	14. Coming Home

**Chapter 14**

Homecoming dances in America were a really big deal. Alfred's mother had carved time out of her schedule for Alfred to get his tux fitted, and she was clearly way more excited about it than Alfred was. She also _loved_ Ashley Winters, and kept making comments about them dating, which were incredibly embarrassing. Alfred just wanted out of all of it, and regretted even agreeing to go, but it had sounded fun in the beginning.

Matthew wanted him to skip the game and the dance to make sure he was at the club on time, but Alfred had been unable to agree to that. As much as he loved Arthur, he couldn't miss his first game as quarterback. He'd worked too hard and loved the game too much to abandon his team during such a critical match against their US rivals, the Washington Wildcats. So his first idea was to stay for the game, and then leave right after for the club where Arthur would be partying, but that idea proved impossible, too.

When he'd mentioned the trouble he was in with Arthur, and how he was thinking about skipping the dance, his mother had started to cry. Helen Jones didn't use tears often, and Alfred was smart enough to know he was being played, but he also couldn't leave his mom crying. He'd given her a hard time over the summer and she'd been drinking a lot more lately (now that he was back home and around the house more, he was picking up on it) and he couldn't disappoint her to the point of tears. So he'd gone to his tux fitting and he'd agreed to a tighter cut that he didn't like because Ashley and his mother said it looked better on him.

So now his plan consisted of ditching the first part of the dance, going to the club, and then coming back to the school for Homecoming court. Ashley insisted she didn't care, and when he told her the reason why, she went all girly and giggly and told him not to rush back.

"We're the Prince and Princess—they _have_ to wait for us," she'd insisted with the air of one who was never made to wait for anything in her life. Helen was less thrilled about Alfred's plan, but as long as she got pictures of him in his tux and got to see him play in the big game, she was happy. Alfred's dad was happy, too, though Alfred worried it was less because of his role as quarterback, and more because he was taking Ashley to the dance.

He had to admit, that stung a bit. But he didn't say anything, and he just smiled a bit sadly when his father congratulated him on getting a girl as hot as Ashley to go with him to the dance.

"That's my boy," he'd said, giving Alfred a firm pat on the back. Alfred was just happy his dad was even noticing him—he'd been so busy lately—and figured he had to take what he could get.

"Yeah, Ashley is really nice," Alfred said. His dad snorted. They were at a department store where Ashley was picking out her jewelry for the dance, something Helen had offered to do when she found out the daughter of one of her old friends was going with Alfred.

"Girls like Ashley aren't _nice_, son. Ashley's exactly like your mother. She's cunning, and she's competitive, and she's aggressive—but she's not nice. Save yourself some heartbreak and learn that lesson now."

"Huh?" Alfred asked confusedly. His mom was nice. Sure, she didn't spend all day knitting sweaters and playing with puppies like Arthur's grandmother, but she was nice. Kind of...in her own way. She got him braces when his teeth were crooked and tried to help him with his career, and she'd never expected him to be a star athlete like his dad had wanted. She let him keep his cat when he'd found her as a stray, even when his father had talked of taking her to the pound. Alfred was also pretty sure she was the reason he had a Camaro. His dad didn't think he should be driving yet, and especially not such an expensive car.

"Mom's nice. She's just...tough."

"Whatever you say, kid," Richard replied. Then the topic shifted back to football, and both of them were much more comfortable.

The week flew by, and soon Alfred was preparing for the game. It hurt him to know it was the first game that Arthur wouldn't be attending. He knew Arthur wasn't out there in the stands because when he'd asked Matthew about that part—what if Arthur doesn't decide to go to the concert after the game?—Mathew had replied with a wince and, "He said he wasn't going to the game anymore, but he said he'd be at the concert for sure. I'll make sure he's there. He says he'll go with me and Gilbert."

Alfred frowned at the memory (Arthur had attended his games even when he'd been dating Celio, after all, and supposedly hated Alfred) but today, for Alfred's biggest game, Arthur wouldn't be there to root for him.

Alfred pulled on his helmet. He couldn't think about that now. The stadium was packed and the game was being broadcast on television. This was his moment to shine, and he knew college recruiters were in the stands, as well as talent scouts. If Alfred looked good on the field, he might land himself more commercials and ads for sports related products. He felt the pressure, but with his football pads on, he felt braced to confront it head on. He was going to do well during this game—there wasn't a single doubt in his mind. He'd worked too hard, trained too long, and pushed himself too hard to be anything other than excellent.

The stadium thrummed with excitement and the grass had never looked so green, or the lights so bright. There was a ceremony for the Homecoming court before the game, and so Alfred and a few of his teammates split away from the team and went to mid-field, where all the rail-thin girls were standing in their glittering dresses and heels, their dates on their arms. Alfred joined Ashley and extended his arm, smiling at her confidently.

"Good luck in the game!" she said. She was excited, too. Ashley was no Arthur, but at least Alfred felt like he wasn't at the game alone.

"Thanks! We're gonna win, for sure," he replied.

"Yeah, because of you. You're going to be amazing," Ashley said with a bright, white smile. The cameras flashed and announcements were made about the nominees for Homecoming court. Despite himself, Alfred scanned the blur of the crowd, half-wishing that Arthur had come anyway. He didn't see him.

The game was a blur of passes and interceptions. Alfred played harder than he ever had in his life. He'd lost some muscle mass with all the dieting, but he was faster because of all the cardio training. The other kids were good athletes, most of them more naturally graceful than Alfred, but he'd beat them all through sheer hard work. When the others began to lag, he was barely sweating. He sprinted down the field like it was nothing, and to Alfred, it truly wasn't anymore. He was a machine.

It should have been glorious—each successful throw, and each inspiring, gravity-defying catch...but it all fell flat somehow. During one of the huddles, Alfred directed the play as if he were a robot spitting out per-programmed instructions, and in his head he thought, _'Why does this matter again?'_

The thought shocked Alfred and he stood on the field dazedly for a few moments—not really seeing it, but seeing through it. A small voice inside him began talking to him, and the noise of the stadium and the crowd and the other players just drained away.

_'Alfred...' _it said in a distinctly British accent. Alfred strained to hear it, somehow knowing he was conjuring Arthur in his mind, maybe reliving a memory, but it was foggy and felt like it was slipping away. He closed his eyes a moment, felt the cool fall air on his face, and suddenly it was March in London, and he sat on the metal bleachers beside Arthur, and it was much colder but they didn't mind.

"_Alfred...what if you're always terrible at rugby?" Arthur asked. Granted, his practice session had gone pretty poorly. Alfred thought about it, though. How would he really feel, if all his hard work never paid off? _

"_I guess it wouldn't matter...so long as you still came to my games and cheered for me!" _

Alfred snapped out of the memory and turned to the stands once more. Was it possible? Was it truly possible that he didn't care about what his dad thought of his game, or of what his coaches thought, or even what his friends thought? Could it really be that the only person who's opinion, whose love and support actually mattered, was Arthur's?

It seemed crazy, but there it was. He was on television, playing the biggest game of his young career, hitting every pass and scoring touch down after touch down and absolutely none of it, not even a second of it, mattered to him. Because Arthur wasn't there. The popularity, the fame, the success—it didn't mean a damn thing, if he didn't have Arthur by his side.

He called a time-out.

"I'm not feeling good. You gotta pull me," Alfred said. The coaches balked. They yelled about stats and scores and how if he quit now, they might not play him as quarterback during another game this season.

"I know all that...but if I'm going to be sick, I'm going to be sick. I need to throw up," Alfred said.

"Don't crack under the pressure!" A coach yelled at him. "Get out there and finish the game!"

"I won't go back. I'm going to be sick," Alfred repeated stubbornly. Frustrated, the coach threw his clipboard and sent the second string quarterback onto the field. The stadium erupted in noise as Alfred jogged slowly out, but Alfred didn't care.

He went to the dressing room where he did not puke, but instead showered hastily and put on his tux. Then he left the nearly empty school grounds (everyone was at the game) and hopped in the passenger seat of his Camaro, while Ivan was in the driver's seat.

"You're here early," he said, looking up from a dirty magazine.

"Yeah, I left the game. Let's get going," Alfred said. Ivan raised a silvery blond eyebrow, but didn't comment. He peeled out of the parking lot (he, too, had his license but he did not drive carefully like Arthur) and sped them towards their destination.

Alfred moved as if in a dream, and the pieces fell together just as Gilbert had assured him they would. As he reached the club, the bouncer recognized him and waved him to the back entrance. He and Ivan exited the car and he could hear the screaming guitars and the pounding drum beat even from outside.

"You're really going to do this?" Ivan asked, grinning at him, because clearly he thought Alfred was an idiot.

"Yeah," Alfred said, fidgeting with his tux.

"You know they're going to throw shit at you and complain about your horrible singing, _da_?"

"Yeah," Alfred agreed again, though he paled a little at Ivan's words.

"Alright, then, you sappy idiot. It's your stoning and not mine," Ivan said as he opened the back door. A club worker was there and she waved them in, explaining that they were right on time.

"They got started sooner than planned—if you'd just been another ten minutes later, I wouldn't have been able to get you on," she said. Alfred smiled shakily in relief. He knew he was making the right choice then.

The lead singer of Razor finished his current song and took a deep drink of water.

"Alright, you guys are awesome. I got a funny ass story to tell you. You guys know I'm gay, right?" There were loud shouts of approval from the audience. "Yeah, and two years ago I sang a cover for a really sappy ass song that I never meant for anybody to hear."

An excited concert-goer shouted out the name of the song, and the lead-singer laughed. "Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, I did it for my boyfriend at the time. Well, believe it or not, that stupid-ass song worked and he agreed to go out with my dumb ass again. So a couple days ago I got a call from the kid that sells me weed when I'm in town," more cheers from the audience, "and he told me he had this friend who was in the shitter with his boyfriend, and he wanted to sing this song to him tonight."

The audience 'aww'd' appreciatively. Alfred relaxed ever so slightly. Stoning seemed less and less likely. He might get out of this without anyone throwing beer on him.

"So do we have Arthur in the audience? Ahhhh...yep. There he is. By now you've probably realized that my guest singer is more famous than me, so let's welcome Alfred Jones to the stage. I know he looks like Justin Bieber, but let's give him a chance, okay? At least he admits that he's gay," the singer joked.

Alfred took a deep breath, and walked on stage. The way he usually felt during a game—all electrified and tense—that was how he felt now. He smiled shakily, and spotted Arthur in the crowd. Arthur looked completely shocked, and next to him, Matthew and Gilbert were grinning like fools.

Alfred stepped up to the mike and cleared his throat.

"Hi Artie," he said nervously. In the crowd, Arthur shook his head in a disbelieving sort of way.

"You ready? You can sing right?" the singer asked. Alfred hastily shook his head no. The singer laughed, as did a few in the audience. "That's alright, kid, I'll make you look good."

The music for Razor's cover of 'The Reason' started up, and Alfred did the best possible job he could of butchering one of Arthur's favorite songs.

"_I'm not a perfect person_

_There's many things I wish I didn't do_

_But I continue learning_

_I never meant to do those things to you_

_And so I have to say before I go_

_That I just want you to know..."_

Despite Alfred's terrible voice, his boyfriend was smiling, and Alfred couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Arthur wipe at some water in his eyes.

"_I'm sorry that I hurt you_

_It's something I must live with every day_

_And all the pain I put you through_

_I wish that I could take it all away_

_And be the one who catches all your tears_

_That's why I need you to hear_

_I've found a reason for me_

_To change who I used to be_

_A reason to start over new_

_And the reason is you."_

When the song was done, there was silence for a long moment. Then, predictably, the cup of plastic beer came hurtling at him and Alfred just barely managed to dodge. It hit the drummer instead, who made a disgusting show of licking it off his hairy beard.

"YOU SUCK, BEIBER!" the audience member shouted.

"Not cool man!" the singer shouted back, and soon the mosh pit had broken out into a fight and Alfred was jumping off stage as more beer came hurtling at him. The band started back up—a furious, fist pumping anthem—and Alfred was shoved and jostled through the crowd until, miraculously, he was pushed against Arthur.

"I'm sorry!" Alfred shouted.

"Why aren't you at the game?" Arthur shouted back, looking at him almost in wonder.

"Because it doesn't mean anything if you're not there. Please forgive me, please!" Alfred begged. Then Arthur was in his arms again and he didn't feel disgusting and fat, or lost, or empty. He just felt Arthur's relief and love for him, and the love he had for Arthur in turn.

"Arthur, will you go with me to the Homecoming dance?" he asked, while he was still hugging his boyfriend. Arthur nodded against his shoulder, and Alfred had never felt so relieved. When they pulled out of the fierce hug, Arthur slung his arm around Alfred's shoulders and pulled him down into a furious lip lock. The music pounded, the crowd of people pushed in around them, and absolutely none of it phased them. The whole world fell away and it was just the two of them, kissing like they'd never get to kiss each other again.

They found Matthew and Gilbert, who surprisingly, wanted to return to the dance.

"You don't want to stay at the concert?" Arthur asked. Then he blushed, "I gathered you knew the lead singer?"

"Oh, Johnny? Yeah, he's cool. He buys my shit," Gilbert said. As promised, he was wearing his dark purple, thrift store pimp suit. It actually didn't look half-bad on him. Matthew was in a black suit with a lilac undershirt, and they looked good together. Ivan drove Alfred's car back to his and Yao's home. They had a toddler at home and no real interest in attending a school dance. Still, Alfred appreciated that Ivan had helped support him with his plan.

Shoved in the backseat of the cab built for three, Alfred pulled Arthur onto his lap. He held him tightly.

"I'm really not dressed to go to a dance," Arthur said, his head tucked under Alfred's chin.

"What are you talking about? You look perfect," Alfred said.

"I'm just in jeans and a T-shirt."

"Like I said...perfect," Alfred replied with a small grin.

"I'm still not entirely sure I understand what's been going on..." Arthur began hesitantly.

"Alfred will explain later, but for now, just enjoy the night, okay?" Matthew said with a reassuring smile. "Alfred loves you and you only, and he isn't cheating on you and never would. For tonight, let that be enough."

And feeling snug and protected and cherished in Alfred's arms—the lines of the touching love song still ringing in his ears—Arthur realized that it was _more_ than enough.

* * *

><p>When they arrived at the dance, Matthew had the shock of his life. Standing outside of the gymnasium, dressed simply but elegantly, was none other than Francis.<p>

"Francis?" Matthew called. Francis noticed them all and grinned happily. He looked a little tired, but healthy again. He seemed to be at peace with himself now. Happily (and causing Gilbert to frown) Matthew ran from their group to launch himself at Francis. The taller boy laughed and caught him easily, giving him a firm hug before releasing him.

The others, including Gilbert, approached more slowly. Gilbert frowned moodily and made a big show of tugging Matthew back towards his side, like a puppy growling _'mine'_ and pulling on a favorite toy. Francis gave them a wry, but approving smile.

"Relax, Gilbert. I'm not here to steal your date. I have a date of my own who should be arriving soon. But you look good, Matthew. Are you taking care of him, Gilbert?" Francis asked. Gilbert seemed to relax some. He and Francis had been friends of a sort towards the end of last year. He figured dating Matthew would ruin it, but it appeared Francis wasn't going to be dramatic about it.

"Yeah, I guess. He hasn't dumped me yet."

"He should have, when he saw that suit. Did you rob a dead pimp?" Francis asked distastefully. Gilbert beamed, as if he'd been paid the best compliment ever. Matthew just rolled his eyes and leaned into Gilbert's hold on him, feeling happy with the world. The only one missing was...

"There you are, _socio._" Alex ambled up, and told them that the party was awesome inside. "You two coming or what?" he asked.

"Are you back for good now?" Matthew asked, resisting Gilbert's tugging on him. Francis shook his head.

"Just for tonight. It was rather unplanned—that is why I did not tell you. I leave in the morning."

"Oh," Matthew sounded tragically disappointed even to his own ears, and he glanced at Gilbert a little guiltily. "I'm coming, Gil, I promise," he said. Then to Francis, "So your date...?"

"Is Michelle," Francis said quietly. Some of the warmth drained out of Matthew's eyes.

"Oh," he said again. "You two...have a nice night, I guess," Matthew said. Feeling sorry for him now, Gilbert stopped his playful tugging and let Matthew say whatever he might want to say, but Matthew realized he didn't have the words.

"You, too, Matthew," Francis said. Before Matthew could object, Francis stepped forward and gave him a light hug. It almost made Matthew tear up, but he held it together some how. "I'm sorry...for how it ended," Francis said in his ear softly, before letting him go.

Matthew nodded tightly while in his head he thought, _'I'm sorry it ended at all.'_

But there it was in front of him—the realization that Francis had flown half-way around the world, not for him, but for Michelle. It was truly over between them. It was time Matthew let him go, even though he'd been his first love (and oh, how he'd loved him).

During this exchange, Alfred and Arthur had been respectfully quiet, but once Matthew had left with Alex and his date, it was their turn to greet their French friend.

"So I take it the song worked?" Francis asked. Arthur pouted.

"Did everyone know about this except me?" he questioned. Alfred laughed.

"Pretty much," Alfred said. Then, with an almost grudging reluctance, "It was technically Francis's idea."

"You know, being the most experienced lover out of all of us, does it really surprise you that such a beautiful idea came from me?" Francis asked cockily. Arthur frowned.

"Don't spoil it with your French-ness," Arthur grumbled. Laughing, Francis slung an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders. "I hear you are worried about your precious Alfred spending time around Michelle, no?" Francis said. Arthur blushed hotly.

"I don't care who his friends are, but it wasn't unreasonable to assume—"

"Michelle is _my_ girlfriend, Arthur. I flew here for her tonight," Francis said. Arthur blinked in surprise.

"She's dating...you? But I thought she didn't believe in love? I thought she—"

"Arthur, try to have some compassion. Or at least, be understanding of those who are not as perfect as you. Michelle is not in a good place. Imagine if Alfred died tomorrow. What would that do to you?"

Arthur was stonily silent.

"The Michelle you see is not the _real_ Michelle. She's in pain, Arthur. She lost the boy she loved and she's been wandering lost ever since. I'm afraid recently it has only gotten worse for her," Francis said with a solemn, almost angry growl to his voice. Alfred looked like he was in perfect agreement. Arthur was beginning to feel frustrated being out of the loop.

Before he could demand answers, Michelle appeared. She was not wearing too much dark, heavy make-up as Arthur was accustomed to seeing her wear, or anything trashy or slutty. Instead, she wore a stunning, pale blue mermaid-style dress that hugged her body tightly and then flared out at her calves. She wore white gloves up to her elbows, and her dark hair was gently curled around her pale, delicate shoulders. In his white suit with his dark blue undershirt, she and Francis made a striking pair. Francis swept forward and regally kissed her hand. She blushed.

Michelle looked abnormally uncomfortable in her own skin, and she tugged nervously at a pearl earring. Alfred and Francis gave her big smiles.

"You look beautiful, my darling," Francis praised. "I knew the dress would suit you."

"It's beautiful, Francis," she said quietly. She seemed unusually subdued, and Arthur wondered what the hell was going on.

"You ready for your fairy tale night?" Alfred asked with a big smile. Michelle gave a small laugh, and glanced almost shyly at Francis. He revealed a simple, yet beautiful corsage from an inside pocket—just a lone little Forget-Me-Not pinned to a pearl bracelet, and gently clasped it on her wrist. Michelle looked like she was going to cry.

"Maybe we can talk later? My princess for the evening requires my full attention," Francis said with a soft grin directed at Michelle. She blushed again, and let him take her arm.

"Have fun, you guys!" Alfred called, before casually taking Arthur by the hand.

"See? I'm not with Michelle."

"Then what the _hell_ is going on with her? That girl is _not_ the school slut who goes around carving cuss words in lockers and stealing the cheerleader's boyfriends," Arthur exclaimed, almost a little too loudly. Alfred hissed at him to _shhh_, and glanced nervously over his shoulder to see if Michelle had heard. She hadn't, and was safely inside the building with Francis.

"Michelle said I could tell you once she realized it was causing problems between us. You know that day that I went to check up on her and was gone for a long time?" Alfred asked.

"Rather hard to forget. You came back in a terrible mood and then broke up with me."

"I _didn't_ break up with you. I just needed some time...to figure things out. I know everybody says this, but it really _wasn't_ you. It was me. And I'll tell you more about that later, but what's important for you to know now is that when Michelle went to go see her agent for lunch, he brought along a producer. He told Michelle that he wanted to talk to her about a job, but they didn't discuss it much over lunch. Her agent told her to go back to the guy's hotel with him to talk about the job."

"What?" Arthur said, beginning to suspect where the story was going. Alfred nodded.

"I know. So Michelle went with the guy, because she's really desperate to make it as a model, and he took her to a hotel, and...well...there was never any job. He...he raped her, Arthur. Michelle said he was old and fat and disgusting and she tried to fight him off but she couldn't and he hurt her. At first she didn't want me to tell anyone, but the next day she said she'd told Francis and that they were dating now. She didn't understand what he saw in her but I vouched for him and told her that Francis is a good guy. She really likes him," Alfred said.

"What about telling the police what happened? You can't stay quiet about this, Alfred!" Arthur said furiously. Alfred nodded.

"Michelle knows, and she's going to file a police report, but not until after the commercial. Realistically, it could ruin her chances at breaking into the industry. Francis is trying to convince her that she doesn't have to be a model, that she can improve her grades and be a sculptor. She used to do it all the time, but she hasn't since her boyfriend died."

"That's...I don't even know what to say. I feel sorry for her," Arthur said. "If I lost you...so suddenly like that...I don't know what I'd do."

"Me either. But enough sad stuff, okay? Francis is here to show her a really good time tonight, and I'm going to make sure nobody hurts her again at work. I already paid a little visit to her agent."

"What happened?" Arthur asked, clinging tightly to Alfred's hand. What if the slimy asshole had owned a weapon, like so many guys did in America? What if Alfred had gotten seriously hurt?

"Not much. At first he didn't know who I was, and then when he realized, I guess he got nervous about all the reporters hanging around outside his building. I just told him to stay away from Michelle and that he was fired, and he didn't really argue. He said he'd pick up another girl just like her easy enough. I wanted to punch him, but I didn't. I was worried it might affect Michelle's case against the rapist somehow."

"You did the smart thing, though you should have never gone alone at all. You're too much of a hero for your own good, love," Arthur said, pulling Alfred towards him by the lapel and pressing a kiss to his lips. Alfred smiled against his boyfriend's mouth and gave him a squeeze.

"Come on—let's go dance. I'm pumped now that you're here!" Alfred said with a big grin. Smiling proudly despite being under-dressed, Arthur took Alfred's arm and accompanied him inside.

Once they were in the packed gym, Arthur began to spot his friends from student council and he saw all the hard work the decorating committee had put into the dance. It was being run strictly by the president, volunteers, and a few selected council members, but Arthur had helped out with a few things here and there. Seeing it all come together was impressive, though. He smiled up at Alfred. The song playing was actually pretty good.

"Step over here guys, and I'll get your picture!" the professional photographer said. Arthur snickered a bit at the cheesy balloon arch and the starry looking backdrop, but Alfred was all grins as he pulled him over. With a huge smile, Alfred wrapped one arm around Arthur's chest and held the other out in a happy peace sign. Arthur was blushing, though smiling happily, too, and the camera flashed brightly.

"I think I'm blind," Arthur complained, but Alfred just laughed. Ashley found them next, though she didn't look surprised or unhappy to see Arthur there.

"_There_ you are, Alfred. I thought since you left the game you might not show. I think they're going to announce who won court soon," she said. "Are you going to dance with us?" she asked, waving to her group of beautifully dressed friends.

"Maybe a little later. I want to dance with Artie right now," he said. Arthur melted a little inside and squeezed Alfred's hand appreciatively. It was stupid, because it was just some dumb school dance and Arthur knew it really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things...but it mattered to him that Alfred wanted him there, and wanted to share the experience with him.

"Let's dance—I like this song," Arthur said.

"This is payback, isn't it? I embarrass you at the club with my bad singing, so now you're gonna embarrass me at the dance with your terrible moves."

"That's exactly it," Arthur replied with a teasing grin, before beginning to jump and do his weird little awkward side-to-side swaying move, which honestly looked a little like a mad scientist had performed a lobotomy on the Bunny Hop, and then joined it like a deformed Siamese twin to the Macarena.

Alfred just laughed and did his best to follow along. They looked like complete fools, of course, but for once in Alfred's life, he really just didn't give a damn. He was recklessly, ridiculously, incredibly happy.

They danced several upbeat songs, laughing like hyenas, and then Alfred danced with Mattie, when Gilbert went strangely missing for a few songs.

"You don't know where he went?" Alfred asked, once the song was over and they were rejoining Arthur at his table. He was drinking punch and talking happily with a student council member.

"No...and he promised he wouldn't get into trouble tonight," Matthew said worriedly. As he scanned the room for Gilbert, his eyes landed on Francis and Michelle off in a corner, dancing together slowly despite the beat of the music, talking in whispers. She rested her cheek against his chest.

Matthew tried valiantly not to feel bitter and jealous, but he didn't quite succeed. He tore his eyes away from them, and vowed that he was going to give Gilbert the blow job of his life once they got to the hotel Gilbert had rented for the night. He didn't want to think about what Michelle would be doing with Francis.

"Huh...that's weird. Well, maybe he'll show back up soon," Alfred said. The friends sat, and soon Alex joined them despite Alfred being at the table. They all managed to talk a bit without fighting for once, before the Principal announced they were about to crown the Homecoming court. Arthur took Alfred's hand and gave it a gentle, proud squeeze. The simple action was enough to make Alfred feel ridiculously happy that he was at the dance, and that he'd been voted to be part of something so big for the school. Because Arthur was there to support him, it felt like he could enjoy the excitement of it again.

"And the results...our Homecoming Prince is...oh! I didn't know he was even in the running, but I suppose it's appropriate. Our Prince is a Prince in real life, too. His Royal Highness, Arthur Kirkland!"

"What?" Arthur said. Alfred was happy for Arthur, of course he was, but he was also a little...confused. Like the Principal had said, Arthur's name hadn't even been on the ballot.

"Go on...she's going to crown you! Congrats, babe!" Alfred said happily. Maybe everyone just really liked Arthur, and so they'd written his name on the ballot? Alfred didn't know, but whatever the reason, he was happy for his boyfriend.

Arthur awkwardly moved across the gym to the sound of applause. He looked a little ridiculous in his metal band T-shirt and his ripped jeans accepting the crown.

"And the Princess is..."

Ashley Winters was already moving across the gym.

"Allie Jones? Um...Allie Jones, congratulations!" the Principal said a little surprised. At first, everyone was confused, and then slow laughter began to bubble over the crowd.

"Alfred...I think she means _you_," Matthew said with a nervous grin. Alfred looked confused, but when no Allie Jones emerged to take the crown, the joke became more obvious. If there was any doubt, Alfred suddenly found a spotlight shining on him. He winced and held his arm to block out the light.

"Okay, okay! I get it!"

"This has been tampered with," the Principal said with resignation into the mic. She paused a second, and then her eyes darted off stage, with knowing swiftness. "Gilbert! I'll get you this time on this! Don't think for a second you've gotten away with—"

But whatever the Principal was yelling at Gilbert was lost, because Alfred was accepting Ashley's crown with a joking grin, not too serious that he couldn't play along, and put the delicate little crown on his head. Then, to a mix of groans and catcalls, Alfred pulled Arthur into his arms and dipped him in a romantic kiss, so that Arthur had to hastily grab his crown so that it didn't topple off.

Ashley stormed off in a huff, swearing to skin Gilbert alive for ruining her moment, and a counselor had to come on stage to announce the Queen and King—which, thankfully, had not been altered. The slow music began to play and Alfred happily pulled his prince against him, nothing but smiles, even when his Prince kept stepping on his feet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Yay! My favorite chapter to write in this fic so far. I hope you liked it, too! As for the song Alfred serenades to Arthur, I heart it. It's called 'The Reason' by Hoobastank. Razor is probably a real band, but not one that I listen to—just a random name. Sorry if the song lyrics bugged you!

Oh, and a shout-out to Gilbert, who was totally the hero of this chapter. Thanks Gilbert! You were a super-useful character this chapter! And a shout out to the wonderful reviewers of last chapter, who made me want to rush to give them the next chapter, because they were so wonderful. If you took time to review, even though it was late, or you were on your wii (lol), thanks. It really does juice me to write the next chapter to hear what's working for you guys and what isn't. So thanks!


	15. The Talk

**Chapter 15**

Kiku's eyes shyly darted over, to where Heracles was admiring the morning sky with a lazy, carefree grin as he walked beside him. They'd been dating for a full two weeks, and it was amazing…but nothing had really changed. Well, Kiku supposed, a few little things had changed.

Heracles still stared at him all the time, and he still pouted when Kiku fled to the bathroom to change, but now he left extra room on one side of his bed whenever he took naps. Kiku didn't have a clue why, as the boy loved to sprawl out when he slept. Actually, Heracles did _a lot_ of things that Kiku didn't understand now. In the mornings, as Kiku was leaving for his early class, Heracles would say "Aren't you forgetting something?" But despite checking and re-checking his bag, Kiku had never forgotten anything. He would have assumed Heracles was playing tricks on him, but when he said as much to Ludwig, the taller boy just blushed and said not to rush things, and to tell him immediately if Heracles "tried anything funny."

Talking to Ludwig about it had only confused Kiku more, so he kept quiet about Heracles and his odd behavior after that. Like, for example, Heracles was always half-naked now. At first, Kiku thought he'd just been imagining it, but now he was certain. Kiku spent all his time picking up Heracles's clothing off the floor or where he'd left it draped over chairs, and Heracles spent just as much time finding excuses to take it off—the air conditioning became curiously jammed in the off position, their laundry soap went mysteriously missing numerous times and all his clothes were "dirty," or he'd gotten sunburned (Kiku didn't think his beautifully darkened olive skin counted as 'sunburned') and the clothes were bothering him.

Aside from trying to keep Heracles in his clothes and pestering the maintenance man to fix their AC, and making far too many trips to the store to buy more detergent, nothing much had changed. They still walked to classes together most of the time, though now Heracles insisted on carrying his bag.

Kiku liked that. He'd seen that in many of his drama shows and whenever Heracles insisted on gentlemanly behavior, it made him feel like he had the most attentive, thoughtful boyfriend in the world. Heracles opened doors for him, and he'd make tea for him while he was studying. Kiku liked those changes very much. Once, when they'd had rain a few days ago, he'd exited his class thinking he was going to be soaked…but there was Heracles, waiting for him under an umbrella built for two. Kiku had _really_ liked that.

They had kissed once more, and Kiku blushed just to think of it. It had been the day after Heracles had asked him, and they'd been about to part ways to go to different classes. Right there in the hallway, in front of _everyone_, in _broad daylight_…his boyfriend had surprised him with a kiss. Kiku had turned the same shade as a tomato and he'd pushed Heracles away rather roughly. He hadn't _meant_ to shove him, of course, but Kiku had been raised by a traditional mother in a good, proper family and he didn't go around making out with boys in public hallways. That was the behavior of improper people, and Kiku was _not_ improper.

Heracles hadn't tried to kiss him since, and Kiku was convinced now that he was doing this whole boyfriend thing entirely wrong.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Heracles said dreamily. Absorbed in his thoughts, Kiku didn't reply. Heracles's hand kept bumping against his, and it was distracting him. He stepped a little to the side, so it wouldn't keep happening. Heracles sighed.

"We need to get more laundry soap while we are out," Kiku said, with a little bit of annoyance coloring his tone. This was their fourth box in a week. He was certain _he_ wasn't misplacing it…

Heracles sighed again. Kiku frowned a little to himself.

"Kiku…I think we need to talk," Heracles said gently. Kiku stopped—frozen. He knew what that meant. He'd heard it in too many dramas to mention. Noticing that he'd stopped walking, Heracles rushed to reassure him. "No, no…it's nothing like that. I'm happy being your boyfriend."

"Shh! We are in public!" Kiku blushed, his eyes darting around nervously. Heracles glanced lazily around—it was just the two of them out on the school grounds—and arched a disbelieving eyebrow. Then he frowned lightly.

"Kiku…are you ashamed of me?" Heracles asked. Kiku's startled brown eyes widened.

"What? No!" he replied instantly. "You are…how could I be…" the language failed him and Kiku fell silent. He settled on squeezing his eyes shut tightly and shaking his head hard. "Not ashamed," he insisted. When he peaked one eye open, Heracles was grinning again, relaxed and happy once more.

"Then, Kiku, I really want to—" but before Heracles could say that he wanted Kiku to take naps with him, and hold his hand when they walked, and kiss him before he left in the mornings…the Hero Club president himself came out of nowhere, his voice blaring and loud and Alfred-like.

"HEY GUYS!"

"Where did you _come_ from?" Heracles asked peevishly. Kiku was looking at Heracles triumphantly as if to say 'See? I _told_ you we were in public.'

"I'm on a Hero Club mission!" Alfred announced cheerily. A few moments later, Arthur came puffing around the corner, clutching his side, looking as if he'd been running after Alfred quite awhile and was less than happy about it.

_Mew!_

Instantly, Heracles and Kiku fell silent. They knew that sound. The pouch on the front of Alfred's hoodie began to wiggle. A second plea confirmed their suspicions—_Mew! Mew!_

"I totally heroically saved her!" Alfred said proudly, less-than-gently pulling the ball of fluff out of his hoodie. Terrified (Kiku and Heracles could only imagine what the poor thing had suffered) she turned big, desperate blue eyes to them. _Mew?_

"Gentle, Alfred-kun!" Kiku took the kitten instantly, not asking for permission, because something so delicate and frail didn't belong in the big, clumsy hands of Alfred Jones. Finally, still huffing and puffing, Arthur joined them. When he got there, he smacked Alfred's shoulder with as much force as he could muster.

"What have I told you…about running off like…that?" Arthur yelled. Alfred winced, forgetting they had an audience, and fell into bickering with his boyfriend.

"Geez, Artie! I'm not four! I can go off on my own, ya know!"

"Oh really? Can you? Because I _distinctly_ remember you running off from me in the mall just two days ago and—" Alfred's face flushed with bright red color.

"I was trying to dodge the press!"

"—and you ended up tripping that store alarm and—"

"It was completely logical to try and duck into the employee room!"

"—and now we can't shop at Saks anymore," Arthur finished with an angry huff. Kiku and Heracles exchanged glances. It seemed in Alfred and Arthur's relationship, the winner of every disagreement boiled down to who griped louder.

"ANYWAYS…I heroically rescued her. Ain't she cute?" Alfred beamed.

"_Isn't_ she cute, you mean," Arthur automatically corrected. Then he sneezed, and it ruined the haughty, grammar-nazi-type look he was shooting at Alfred (who was oblivious and immune to such looks by this point).

"She's got my eyes!" Alfred said proudly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Before you go off on that 'she looks just like me so she must be a hero-cat sidekick' spiel again, explain the situation. Wait. Nevermind. _I'll_ explain the situation. _You'll_ only confuse them," Arthur said primly. He sneezed again.

Kiku allowed Heracles to gently take the kitten, smiling at her in his soft, sleepy way. It was too late for Arthur's warning—both of them were already horribly confused.

"She was up in a tree, and—"

"We were going to the library," Arthur began pointedly, shooting a watery-eyed glare at Alfred.

"AND A HAWK WAS TOTALLY SWOOPING AROUND!"

"There was _no_ hawk. Stop exaggerating!"

"And I was like 'hang on, Beyonce, I'll save you!'—"

"We aren't naming the damn cat Beyonce! It's a ridiculous name and it doesn't even suit…ACHOO!"

"So I climbed the tree, like a total hero, and I swooped her out of the hawk's evil clutches!"

"He nearly broke his leg and he would have crushed her if I hadn't caught him—"

Alfred paused his thrilling narrative to shoot Arthur a _look_. "You totally didn't catch me. I fell on you."

"Ha! But you admit that you—ACHOO!—_fell_ out of the tree and it was hardly the heroic rot you've been spouting off since—"

"And I realized then, that she looked _just_ like me, and that it was DESTINY—she's clearly meant to be my sidekick cat, but Artie…"

Arthur tried to stop it, but he violently sneezed again.

"Seems to be allergic to her," Alfred concluded glumly.

Throughout this entire exchange, Heracles and Kiku had been bouncing between the two of them like a ping-pong ball going back and forth over a net. For a long moment, there was silence.

_Mew?_

The kitten looked at Kiku so desperately, and he could tell exactly what she was thinking. 'Please don't let them take me again. I'm a newborn and my ears are sensitive!'

"We will need to get some litter, as well as soap," Kiku said quietly. Smiling softly, Heracles gently passed the kitten back to her new mother.

"Do you think she can manage soft food, or should we get kitten formula?" Heracles asked.

"AWESOME! You guys can keep her then? We tried taking her to a shelter, but they said she was too young and they'd just put her down."

"Put her down where?" Kiku asked, his brown eyes big and wide. Heracles frowned lightly.

"He means they'd euthanize her."

"What?" Kiku said, clearly horrified by the idea. He held the little kitten close to his chin, and felt her weak purring vibrate against his throat. She was _so_ tiny.

"It's okay now, though, Kiku. We can keep her, right? We'll give her a good home," Heracles said. Alfred beamed, and even Arthur grinned.

"We hoped you'd say that, actually," Arthur replied.

"I've been running all over campus trying to find you guys!" Alfred said. "It's rough being a hero, sometimes…and the job is never done. Now I've got to go save my science grade," Alfred said glumly.

"We're already a half-hour late for tutoring as it is. You two sure you can take her?" Arthur confirmed. Heracles nodded.

"We might not have been dating for as long as you two, but I think we'll make good parents," Heracles said lightly. Kiku's cheeks nearly caught fire, but Alfred just grinned broadly and Arthur smiled.

"Congratulations, you too!" Alfred said.

"You make a good couple," Arthur added. Casually, as if it was no big deal at all (and to Alfred and Arthur it really wasn't), Alfred laced his fingers together with Arthur's as they headed off to science tutoring, saying their goodbyes as they went.

"That's what I was trying to tell you…it's not a big deal…if you wanted to hold my hand."

"We'll talk about it _later_, in _private_. There are young ears present," Kiku said, still blushing.

Heracles liked sex, and until he'd gotten himself a boyfriend, he'd enjoyed it pretty regularly with whoever was willing. But there had never been feelings involved before. It was driving him crazy, but as he looked at the blushing boy gently holding the little kitten, whispering reassurances to her and looking nearly as sweet and innocent as she was…he figured he could wait. He could wait as long as he had to for a boy like Kiku.

* * *

><p>Arthur didn't really need science tutoring, but he came anyway, because Alfred needed it. While Mr. Allowick lectured, Arthur's eyes watched his boyfriend carefully. Alfred <em>seemed<em> to be doing better since the homecoming dance. They still hadn't had their talk, but for an entire week, it had been as though he had the old Alfred back. He knew his boyfriend must have been just as stressed out and nervous about the commercial as before, but it had clearly done him a world of good to feel as though he had Arthur and Mattie back in his corner.

Still, Arthur fretted. Matthew had hinted that Michelle wasn't a good influence on Alfred, and that Arthur needed to monitor him closely. Asking more questions had gotten him nowhere, and so Arthur watched. He was a little behind in his schoolwork, but he could proudly say that for an entire week, he hadn't let Alfred out of his sight.

Except that one time at the mall. Honestly, Alfred was surely that child who had run off from his parents as soon as something shiny caught his eye in a store, no doubt causing all kinds of mayhem in the process. _'He hasn't changed,'_ Arthur thought with a fond smile.

Alfred bit his lower lip in puzzlement but then began attempting to answer a few of the problems on the study guide, unaware that Arthur was watching him so closely. Arthur's gaze drifted to the front of the classroom where they had once…he blushed a bit and turned his gaze back to Alfred.

"Are you getting it, love?" he whispered. Alfred scribbled down one more answer and then nodded, distractedly. Some of his golden hair fell over his eyes and he brushed at it, only for it to fall right back where it was. Arthur smiled.

"Alright, guys, that brings us back to where we are in class. Any questions?"

"I have one," a soft voice said from the other side of the room. Alfred and Arthur looked up in surprise—they hadn't even noticed Matthew in the mix of students. He didn't have the study guide on his desk, and as far as Arthur knew, the quiet boy made all As in his classes, with only an occasional B.

"Err, yeah Mr. Williams?" Allowick said, clearly a little surprised as well.

"This is a little off-topic, but since we're talking about process of equilibrium on the atomic level, I was curious about how it worked on the anatomical level…what happens when a person takes diuretics in an attempt to lose weight?" Matthew said. His eyes never once strayed to Alfred, but realization his Arthur like a sack of bricks.

Arthur froze in his chair tellingly, and Alfred winced beside him. Alfred turned his blue eyes down and away, clearly ashamed, not wanting him to know but realizing it was too late. Instead, he glared weakly across the room at Matthew, who finally met his eyes.

Matthew looked stonily determined.

"Alright, that _is_ off topic, and a coach could probably explain better…but I can give you the basics. It won't help you lose weight, for starters. The brain is 70% water, and the blood is something like 80% water, and your lungs are even more dependent on water—90% water, I believe. So as you can imagine, taking something to force the water out of your body might result in a temporary weight loss, but you're doing damage to major organs. Plus, it's pointless. The second you eat anything, the body will absorb more water in an attempt to regain equilibrium. Just like if you don't eat enough calories, your metabolism will slow down, if you don't get enough water, you'll start retaining what you do drink. Not to mention, diuretics have some pretty nasty side-effects. Diarrhea and muscle weakness, cloudy thinking, cramping, fatigue—not cool. Does that answer your odd and off-topic question?" Mr. Allowick asked with a smile. Matthew barely glanced at him, but nodded, confirming Allowick's suspicion that Matthew had already known the answer. Allowick's eyes scanned the room quickly until his gaze landed on Alfred Jones.

Alfred Jones who was trying to prepare for a modeling shoot and a commercial in two days. Alfred Jones who would be gullible enough to take something bad for him on blind faith. Alfred Jones, who was looking guilty and ashamed and wincing away from Arthur's now accusing glare.

He sighed.

"Okay, tutorials are dismissed. Alfred, hang out here a bit so we can talk about your make-up work for your trip, okay?"

As the students filed out, Arthur couldn't quite leave.

"I've been watching you all week. You haven't—"

"I _know_. I stopped taking them. I _told_ Mattie I wasn't going to take them anymore and that I didn't need to worry you over it, but he—"

Matthew was passing by their tables now. He looked concerned, and he also looked as though he and Alfred had been squabbling over the issue for awhile now.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," he said.

"You knew? Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur said, clearly a little hurt. Matthew looked pointedly at Mr. Allowick, who was shamelessly eavesdropping.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? I understand if you're mad at me, Alfie…but it's for your own good."

"Alright, boys, move along. Let me and Alfred have a little chat about his work for this next week," Allowick said firmly. Arthur gave Alfred the look that said the conversation was _far_ from over, and left in a silent rage.

When the door was closed, Mr. Allowick walked to the back of the classroom and sat on the table in front of Alfred, who was now dully thwacking his head against the tabletop.

Mr. Allowick refrained from mentioning the fact that repeated head banging killed brain cells and waited patiently. Finally, Alfred stopped and looked up at him in pure mental misery.

"Sorry Mr. A…you wanted to tell me my assignments?" Alfred said. Mr. Allowick sighed.

"How long have you been taking diuretics, Alfred?" he asked point blank. Alfred winced.

"How do _you_ know about it, too? Geez, do I have a sign on my forehead or something?"

"Matthew Williams is an excellent student. He didn't need tutoring, and he asked me twelve times if you were going to come this morning when you were late. Then he asks about diet pills while looking straight at _you_, and then apologizes to you before he leaves. It may have been awhile since I studied rocket science, but…"

"Okay, I get it. It was obvious," Alfred replied glumly.

"So how long?"

"Just for a few weeks. I've hardly taken them at all this week because Arthur knows something's wrong and he won't let me shake him. He even cut class when I did and went to the movies with me and Ivan. He never hangs out with us. It was totally awkward—like taking your mom with you to see a movie full of half-naked chicks."

Allowick had to hide his grin. "Because we're dealing with an emotional crisis here, I'm going to ignore that bit about you cutting school. But you're never going to do that again, right?"

"Umm…"

"Just say 'yes sir,' Alfred," Allowick prompted with an eye roll. This kid couldn't lie to save his life.

"Yes sir?"

"Good boy. Now listen up. Like I said, those pills are just going to wreck you up. You care about football, right?"

"Of course," Alfred said.

"And you know how a good quarterback looks, right?"

Alfred blinked, a little confused, but nodded.

"Now think about what a fashion model looks like," Mr. Allowick said. Alfred cocked his head to the side, thought of Francis, and nodded again.

"Those are different images, right? Now, if you were trying to sell deodorant to your average teenage boy, would you show him a kid that looked like a fashion model, or a kid that looked like a quarterback?" Mr. Allowick asked.

Alfred shrugged, as if the answer was easy. "Duh, a quarterback."

"Okay then. Focus on your football, do what will make you be a great athlete, and don't worry about trying to look like a model. They don't want you to strut the catwalk wearing skinny jeans and scarves, kid. They want you showing off your tan and your six pack making scrawny kids think if they buy that deodorant, they'll get a six pack like you."

"…but that's not what I want kids to think. I don't want them thinking they're not good enough because they see how I look," Alfred said. "I mean, _I_ don't even like how I look. I was happier before, back when nobody cared if I had six cheeseburgers for dinner."

"Okay, you should never eat six cheeseburgers in one sitting. You're not indestructible. Don't do that to your heart, kid. It's bad for you. Eat balanced, and healthy, and eat as much of _good_ foods as you want, until you feel full. Save cheeseburgers for special occasions. Strive to be healthy, not thin, and since we're having this moment of bonding…can I just throw something out there?"

"Um...okay?" Alfred replied unsurely.

"Why are you even doing this modeling thing? You just said you don't want to send the message to kids that they need to look like you do to be happy, so why not focus more on the message you _do_ want to send? I know the first meeting of the Hero Club kinda bombed, but if you gave it time and enthusiasm, you could make that club great. You could go into social work when you graduated. You could help kids stuck in the foster system, or fight for animal rights, or raise money for people with disabilities. So what if you aren't a genius or a size zero? You've got a good _heart_, Alfred. Do you have any idea how badly the world needs guys like you? You only got into modeling to help a good cause, right? It seems to me like you've forgotten the good cause and you're a little lost inside because of it."

Alfred blinked a few times.

"That's…a lot to think about," Alfred said quietly. Mr. Allowick offered him a smile and ruffled his hair.

"You'll figure it out. That's what growing up is all about. Now, I believe you're overdue for a lecture from your boyfriend."

"Craaaap," Alfred whined. "Are you sure you can't keep me a little longer? I'll listen while you talk about biology stuff. I'll even stay awake."

Mr. Allowick shot Alfred a dead-pan look. "Don't tempt me, Alfred," he said with heavy sarcasm. Even Alfred could pick up on it. The blond athlete grinned a little.

"He's gonna be so pissed at me," Alfred realized, his tone serious.

"He loves you. Of course he'll be mad that you were hurting yourself. Go take your lecture like a man, Jones," Mr. Allowick said with a smile.

"Uggghh…fine. Hey Mr. Allowick?"

"Yeah, Alfred?"

"…thanks. You're a good teacher."

"Go on already. You've still got a crappy grade in my class—flattery will get you nowhere."

Grinning, Alfred scooped up his book bag and left, mentally preparing himself for the force of nature that was Arthur.

* * *

><p>"Alfred, if a stranger came up to you and offered you candy when you were six, would it be a good idea to <em>take<em> that candy?" Arthur ranted. He'd been going at it for almost sixty-three minutes, which was a new record for an Arthur-lecture. Despite that fact, Alfred was hiding a smile.

"What kind of candy is it?" he asked impishly.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT KIND OF CANDY IT IS, YOU IDIOT! IT'S STRANGER DANGER! You _don't_ take candy from strangers and you _don't_ take unmarked pills from random girls in bathrooms! USE. YOUR. BRAIN." Arthur flicked him hard on the forehead and Alfred winced. He rubbed at the spot sulkily, finally resorting to pouting.

"I said I was sorry forever ago! I'm not gonna do it anymore! Stop yelling at me, honey," Alfred pleaded pathetically. Arthur looked for a moment like he was going to soften and relent…but then he took a deep breath and kept going, turning agitatedly to start pacing again. Alfred groaned mentally and slumped over dramatically.

"You're absolutely perfect—you _always_ have been—since the day I met you, Alfred! Why on earth would you think I wouldn't want to touch you or see your body? For one thing, there's absolutely _nothing_ wrong with it—it's all in your head—and for another thing…Alfred! Listen to me when I'm yelling at you!"

"I'm listening, babe. I'm listening," Alfred said, sitting up once more and grimacing. He started tuning Arthur's words out (he did that a lot) and just stared at Arthur instead. He was so hyped up—green eyes sparking, hands gesturing wildly. He was so cute when he was mad. Not that Alfred ever riled him up just because he liked to watch him like this…he would _never_ do that. A mischievous little grin began to twist his lips and Alfred knew he was _really_ in trouble when Arthur saw it.

"Just _what _are you smiling at? There's not a bloody thing that's funny about this—umph!" Alfred finally shut Arthur up the only way he knew how. It felt _good_ to kiss his boyfriend again, to feel like his life wasn't falling apart and the commercial was just something fun he was doing, and that it didn't matter what people thought…because he had Arthur by his side.

The shorter boy resisted for a few moments, but ultimately he gave in. He held Alfred tightly and kissed him fiercely, trying to communicate how worried he'd been, and how desperately he loved him through the feel of his kiss.

Alfred's hands slipped to the button on Arthur's khakis and he undid them with practiced ease. He made short work of the zipper, too, and then pushed down the pants and the boxers underneath.

"Alfred! We need to—"

"It's been weeks, babe. I didn't feel very good and I couldn't…ya know. But I'm feeling better now," Alfred said. Arthur let out a little surprised noise when Alfred easily lifted him off the ground and tossed him onto the bed, his feet still tangled up in his pants.

"I can _see_ that, and I'm _glad_ you're feeling better, love, but—"

"Arthur? Let's just make love, okay? With the lights on, so you can see me, and I can see you, and let's just go at it until my plane leaves tomorrow."

"…You have no _idea_ how much I've missed this," Arthur said, finally (_finally!_) relenting.

"I have some idea. The longer we go without fucking, the fussier you get."

"I do not!" Arthur retorted angrily. Alfred began to pump Arthur's arousal skillfully, his callused hand knowing just how to move and when to gently squeeze. Arthur's eyes closed partially in bliss and Alfred felt his own arousal straining against his jeans.

He made a vow then and there to _never_ stress himself out like that again. Nothing was so serious that it was worth losing his ability to make love to his adorable, fussy, wonderful boyfriend…even though the lecture he'd gotten for all his trouble had _almost_ made it worth it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Fluff, anyone? Extra fluff? I've got lots! Free fluff! Come one, come all…all fluff must go! Hee. I liked this chapter. I've been wanting to give Kiku and Heracles that damn kitten for like, six chapters. Poor Heracles…not getting any, 'cause Kiku's a prude. But I love prude!sheltered!Japan.

Requests for more Ivan are noted. I'll work him and Yao into the next chapter for sure. But yeah, he couldn't attend the homecoming dance. Remember, he was so bad in his first year that he's banned from all school events, like games and dances. Yao didn't want to go without him. The story is now about a week into October, so we might skip ahead next chapter to some fun, Halloween goodness, of which, Ivan and Yao will have a big role. Thanks for all the lovely reviews last chapter! This will probably be the only update for the weekend. I have the time…but I kinda just want to sleep, lol. Have a good weekend, guys!


	16. The Favor

Chapter 16

"_You are beautiful, you know?" Francis said with a smile. The autumn sunset highlighted his soft, wavy hair and his cheeks looked a little red in the cool air. Matthew smiled at the other boy's words and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. _

"_I want it to always be like this. It will be, won't it?" Matthew asked nervously. Francis smiled at him again and leaned over, his lips coming achingly close. _

"_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"_

Matthew awoke with a grimace of confusion. He slumped in disappointment when he realized it had just been a dream…and not one that even featured his current boyfriend. Feeling guilty, Matthew turned off his phone alarm and swung his feet over the side of his bed. Across the room, Alex continued to snore like a log, completely oblivious to the sounds of the alarm. His soft, white teddy bear caught his eye and Matthew pulled it into the circle of his arms. He hugged the bear and rested his chin on its head, still thinking absent thoughts of Francis.

Ever since he'd returned for the dance…to be _Michelle's_ date…Matthew couldn't stop dreaming about him. He'd even mixed up Gilbert and Francis's names the day before. Luckily, Gilbert had laughed it off, but Matthew still felt terrible. As Matthew headed to the bathroom to start his morning, his phone beeped once more to remind him that Alfred's plane left today.

They still hadn't really spoken since he'd not so subtly alerted Mr. Allowick to Alfred's problem. At first, Alfred had avoided him, and then Matthew had gotten busy with hockey practice and doing stuff with Gilbert and Alex. He couldn't put it off any longer, though. He and Alfred needed to talk about everything, really. The eating disorder had shocked him, and he'd been doing a ton of thinking about it. Alex had made some insensitive remarks about it and Matthew had surprised himself by rather aggressively defending his old friend. For a moment, he'd been worried his outburst would cost him Alex's friendship, but the Cuban boy merely smiled and shrugged it off.

"I still don't see what's so great about Alfred Jones, but if that's how you feel about it, I'm glad you spoke up. If it bugs you, I won't talk about it anymore. It's really none of my business anyway," Alex had said casually. Matthew had been surprised, relieved, and a little proud of himself all at the same time. Last year, he would have never told someone off for anything.

Matthew replayed that memory in his mind as he brushed his teeth. He would likely have another confrontation with a friend today, and he was hoping it would end equally well. When he was showered and dressed, he woke up Alex and then headed towards Alfred's dorm.

When he knocked, it was Arthur who answered. He looked a little surprised to see him, but he smiled warmly.

"Morning, Matthew. Here for Alfred?" he asked. Matthew nodded and came inside, noting the suitcase half-packed on the bed.

"He's just finishing up in the bathroom. If you two wanted to talk some, I can finish packing his bag. He can't fold his shirts properly anyway," Arthur said. It was only because Matthew had known him so long that he could sense the nervousness in Arthur's voice. Being perhaps the most mature out of all of their friends, Arthur likely understood that Matthew and Alfred's friendship was on very fragile ground.

"Okay," Matthew said. He paused awkwardly for a moment, wanting to apologize for some reason, but not really knowing for what to apologize. The moment passed and instead he said a simple, "Thanks…for letting us work this out on our own."

Arthur blushed a little but smiled as he sat down beside Alfred's suitcase.

"Well, you know me. Alfred's the one that tries to run around solving everyone's problems. I try to stay out of it. We're growing up. It's natural that we fight a bit."

"Yeah…it sucks, though," Matthew said glumly. "Sometimes I wish things didn't have to change."

Arthur flashed him a small, half-smile. "I think you've changed in good ways this year, too. How are things with Gilbert?"

Before Matthew could answer, Alfred emerged from the bathroom in his towel. He already looked healthier than he had just a week before. He looked a little fuller and his eyes had that familiar spark of life in them once more. Alfred looked startled to see Matthew in his room and he blushed, hastily finding a T-shirt and pulling it on.

"Hey Matt! Didn't expect you to drop by," Alfred said. His words were partly muffled through the cotton of his shirt. Arthur gave Matthew an encouraging wink and tossed a pair of gym shorts to his boyfriend.

"I'll finish packing for you. Why don't you and Matthew take a walk?"

Alfred looked nervous, but there was no arguing with Arthur, so he awkwardly pulled on his gym shorts and slipped on his sneakers. "Is it cold out?" he asked. Matthew shook his head.

"Not really. A little bit."

"Okay," Alfred said, as he also grabbed a sweatshirt off a nearby chair. Arthur looked a little surprised when he did so.

"Alfred, did you move my book? I was certain I left my favorite copy of _Hamlet_ on that chair," Arthur said. Distracted by Matthew's presence, Alfred just shrugged.

"I'm sure it'll turn up. We'll be back in a bit, okay?" With one last nervous glance at Arthur, Alfred left the room with Matthew trailing behind him. Immediately, Alfred stuffed his hands in his pockets and began examining the ceiling. Matthew clutched his shoulder bag and bit his lip.

"So…" Alfred said after only a few moments of silence. He never could handle the quiet for very long. Matthew smiled.

"Alfred…_Alfie_…I owe you an apology," Matthew said, stopping in the hallway. It was hard, but he looked Alfred square in the eyes and tried not to stammer over his words. The blue-eyed quarterback blinked a little in surprise.

"For telling Mr. Allowick about me?" he asked. Matthew shook his head.

"Not that. You needed to talk to an adult about it, and I knew you and him were close. I'm apologizing for being part of the problem in the first place."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked.

"Al, we've both been pretty stupid this year. You ignored me all summer—"

"But I already—"

"I know. Just let me finish, okay?" Matthew said, not willing to be overpowered for once. A little surprised, Alfred was quiet.

"You ignored me and that really, really hurt my feelings. But what I didn't realize at the time was that I was more hurt by what was going on with Francis and me…and I guess I took that frustration out on you. Then when we broke up, I felt like you didn't even care. My point is that I should have just told you how I was feeling instead of bottling all that up and making new friends. I mean, I'm glad Alex and Gilbert are my friends now…but I shouldn't have ever made you feel like you'd been replaced. That's how you made me feel this summer, but I know you didn't do it on purpose. I _did_ do it on purpose, though, and that's why I'm sorry. I should have talked to you about why I was upset instead of making you feel like you weren't a good person and embarrassing you. I was just mad about Michelle, and about Francis, too."

"Wow," Alfred said. "I didn't know, Matt," Alfred replied. He scratched at the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

"Do you…I mean…do you think we can be friends again? Like the way we were?" Matthew asked nervously. Alfred gave him a huge smile and pulled him into a tight hug that surprised the more slender boy. "Ack! Can't…breathe!" he choked out. Alfred just laughed and ruffled his hair playfully.

"Of course we're still best friends. Always. But Matt…I think we still gotta talk about Michelle."

Matthew groaned and frowned a bit petulantly. "I don't want to," he said.

"Mattie…you know she needs our help."

"She stole my boyfriend. I don't care what she needs," Matthew said stubbornly.

"That's not true. Mattie…you're the nicest, most forgiving friend I have. You're kind to everyone. That's why I really look up to you," Alfred said. Matthew tossed him a weak glare.

"That's low, Alfred. Turn off the puppy dog eyes. Those only work on Arthur."

"I think they work on you, too, best friend. Hear me out about her? Please?" Alfred begged. Matthew let out a long, irritated sigh but he eventually caved.

"Fine. Tell me why I should care about the girl that destroyed the relationship I had with the boy I loved just like you love Arthur," Matthew said. Alfred winced at his wording.

"I know she did a really, really bad thing coming between you and Francis like she did, but she's really messed up, Mattie! Her boyfriend died and her parents are really hard on her, and she got in this really twisted relationship with the tutor her parents hired for her—"

"You're right. She sounds charming. Let me rush to befriend her. I mean, I've got a new boyfriend and she hasn't stolen him yet," Matthew said sarcastically. Alfred stared at him for a long time and then his shoulders slumped a bit in defeat.

"She's grieving, Matt. Nobody's perfect. Maybe it's time to stop blaming her for what was ultimately Francis's choice. Francis let you go. Michelle just so happened to be the girl available when he made that really stupid choice," Alfred said, with surprising wisdom. The words literally hurt Matthew's chest, but he took a deep, shuddering breath and felt tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I don't understand…why I wasn't good enough for him," Matthew sobbed. Feeling a little misty eyed himself, Alfred pulled Matthew into another hug.

"Hey! Don't say that! You _were_ good enough. Better than good enough. Francis was just a jerk and didn't realize it. You want me to beat him up? Because I can fly to France. I'll break his nose again." Matthew laughed a little against Alfred's sweatshirt and his sobs calmed to sniffles.

"I just want to be over him, you know? But I can't! Gilbert's sweet and funny and hot but I still…I _still_ can't stop thinking about Francis. I don't want to love him anymore! He's insensitive and self-absorbed and…and…"

"And he's _French_," Alfred added, as if his nationality alone was an insult. Matthew gave Alfred a watery-eyed glare. The boyish blond smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "What? I mean, come on, he's _really_ French. Ah-hon-hon-hon! Come sample this fancy wine! Let us nibble cheese while we do so and talk about how fabulous my hair is and the fact that I am already growing facial hair and Alfred isn't!" Alfred grinned mischievously while Matthew bit back his smile. "Come on—he sounds just like that, and you know it!"

Matthew settled on weakly smacking Alfred's shoulder, and pulling out of his hug with a roll of his eyes.

"He's not _that_ bad. He's never told you to your face that he's better looking," Matthew's playful grin gave him away and Alfred played along, pretending to be offended.

"Matthew! Tell me I'm prettier than Francis. You have to say it _right_ now. Say it or I'll give you a wet willy."

"A what?" Matthew said laughing, moving nervously away from Alfred's reach. Alfred advanced playfully, blue eyes alight with mischief.

"Say it, Mattie. Alfred, you are _way_ better looking than my slimy ex Francis."

"Alfie…you are…_not_ better looking than Francis," Matthew retorted, before spinning on his heel and making a break for it, dashing madly down the hallway. Laughing loudly, Alfred took off after him and caught him within seconds. They fell to the ground in a rough tumble and after a moment or two of wrestling, Alfred ended up on top. He hastily slicked his finger with spit and then fought Matthew's hands down.

"ALFRED! Don't you DARE! THAT'S DISGUS—GROSS! UGH! STOP IT!" Matthew shouted, as Alfred viciously poked the wet finger into Matthew's ear, despite the Canadian's squirming.

"Say it!" Alfred demanded. Matthew squealed in disgust as Alfred re-wet the finger that had just been in his ear.

"You are SO gross! Stop it, you FREAK!"

"If you just say it, the pain will stop. Tell me the truth, Mattie," Alfred taunted in a sing-songy voice as he wiggled the glistening finger closer to Matthew's face.

"You're prettier than Francis!" Matthew shouted, wincing, his face screwed up in revulsion. Further down the hallway, Arthur poked his head out of the dorm and rolled his eyes at what he saw.

"Children…the both of them," he muttered with a smile before returning to the dorm. Back at the end of the hallway, Alfred wiped his finger off on his sweatshirt and stood, offering his hand to Matthew. The Canadian took it and stood, still rubbing his ear on his shoulder. He glared weakly at Alfred.

"_Gross_," he emphasized again. Alfred just grinned.

"I gotta get ready to go. When we get back…think you'd be willing to talk to Michelle? You don't have to like her, but it would do you good to tell her how she made you feel, wouldn't it?" Alfred said hopefully. Matthew considered it, putting his blind hatred for the girl aside for a moment.

Alfred was right. If he didn't learn to talk to people about his feelings, he'd only be hurting himself in the long run. Besides, it had worked out okay with both Alex and with Alfred. He had a hard time believing things would go so smoothly with Michelle, but he had to be brave enough to try.

* * *

><p>Yao put his pencil down as he heard the ding of the washing machine. Sofia did a fair share of the housework, but her days were largely spent caring for Raivis. He was an active toddler, if not a bit on the shy side, and in the two months since they'd been living in the states, he'd begun to open up more with his new family…and get into more things that he shouldn't.<p>

Despite being busy caring for such a big household (and it was definitely big now that Zakhar had returned from China), Yao was blissfully content. His grades hadn't lowered at all, but he hadn't rejoined any of his old extra-curricular activities. Instead, he spent his evenings doing homework and cooking big, Chinese dinners for his family of five. Zakhar had returned already knowing the situation between Ivan and Yao, and though he was at times unbearably crude about it, he accepted his nephew's choice with good humor. Ivan had always made his father proud, but Zakhar was absolutely besotted by his nephew. The two of them were peas in a pod, and Yao was relieved that Zakhar's return seemed to help Ivan cope with the loss of his father.

Nikolai Braginski was still missing. There had been no word from him for nearly two months, and the Braginski family was beginning to accept that no call would ever come. As Yao transferred the wet clothes into the dryer, he felt large hands land possessively on his hips.

Yao smiled to himself and turned his head over his shoulder, welcoming the passionate kiss Ivan gave him. While they had similar school schedules, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Ivan had to go to class for about two hours longer than he did for remedial English and history.

When their kiss ended, Yao realized his loose, drawstring pants were now undone, and Ivan's hands had moved from his hips up under his silk shirt.

"Natalia will be home from school any moment," Yao protested. Ivan smiled, and his icy eyes flashed with lust.

"But she is not home yet, da?"

"Sofia, then, and Raivis…they've been at the park for nearly an hour. What if they walk in on us?" Yao reasoned. Ivan, however, just placed a hot, open mouthed kiss on his neck and pushed at his loose pants. They fell to the floor, the cotton rustling softly.

"_Dorogoi_," Ivan whispered huskily against Yao's ear. The Chinese boy heard this word often enough to know it was a term of affection—not quite "my love" but as close as Ivan was likely to ever get. It always made his stomach do funny little flips to hear Ivan's soft voice whisper such a word so intimately against his skin. His underwear hit the floor. Yao let out a little grunt of surprise when Ivan hoisted him up, essentially bending him over the dryer. Seeking a place to grab on, Yao accidentally turned the machine on and it began to rumble. A low moan of pleasure escaped his lips at the vibrating feel of the warming metal, and Ivan laughed wickedly in delight behind him. Yao shivered as a wet finger pressed against the top of his cleft and roved downwards, rubbing tight little circles around his hole. His moans increased in volume as he heard Ivan's pants being unzipped, and then a large, bracing hand curled around his slender hip.

"Open up for me," Ivan demanded, his voice deep and authoritative. It was a bit difficult, but Yao managed to get one knee on top of the dryer, leaving himself quite exposed and spread almost uncomfortably wide. All the while, the dyer rumbled away noisily beneath him and the vibrations made him grow impossibly hard. Yao gasped as the first finger slid in, quickly followed by a second. Yao flattened himself against the dryer as much as he could, biting his lip to contain the moans of pleasure as the machine hummed below him and Ivan's thick fingers began to pump in and out of him at a torturously slow speed.

"Ivan…Ivan…" Yao muttered in need, ready for more than just fingers. Ivan grunted as his slickened dick replaced his fingers and he thrust his hips sharply against Yao's backside. The dryer protested against the weight with a low, creaking noise, but continued to get warmer as it rumbled away.

Yao was close…so incredibly close…when the front door opened and he cursed rapidly under his breath in Chinese.

"We're back!" Sofia called out. Raivis could also be heard, begging for something he wanted from the kitchen…which was right next to the laundry room. Ignoring them, Ivan gave one last thrust and came hard inside Yao, smirking innocently against Yao's back as the other boy cursed once more in frustration. Ivan zipped himself back into his pants and Yao made an awkward grab for a hand towel, cleaning himself up hurriedly and righting his clothing. He was still painfully hard, and he smacked Ivan across the chest in annoyance before having to sneak out of the laundry room through the other door just as Sofia and Raivis entered the kitchen.

"Oh, you're back! And helping with laundry? What a sweet little brother I have!" Sofia praised obliviously. Catching the tail end of the conversation, Yao scowled as he hobbled up the stairs. Ivan's reply just barely reached his ears.

"_Da_. Yao loves when I help him with the laundry," Ivan said innocently, no doubt grinning like a wolf.

"Stupid…fat…western…_ass_!" Yao huffed, as he reached the top of the stairs and winced at the sticky feeling between his legs. He needed a shower—a cold one.

"I'm just going to go put away these clothes," Ivan's voice said, drifting up from the laundry room. Yao's eyes narrowed further. Now the jerk was bringing dirty clothes back upstairs that Yao had already hauled _downstairs_ just for an excuse to mess around with him in the bedroom.

Feeling petulant (while secretly loving these games of cat and mouse that they played) Yao locked the bedroom door and collapsed on their big bed, wiggling out of his clothing and stroking himself just the way he liked. He gave Ivan a few minutes to make it up the stairs and then he let out a low, husky moan. The door knob wiggled and Ivan's dark laughter reached him.

"The door is locked, my little panda," Ivan called out in the voice that Yao knew meant he was in a playful mood.

"That's because you don't actually have clean laundry to put away, you liar!" Yao called out. He was very close to coming again, and so far lost in his pleasure he didn't think he could stop to unlock the door even if he wanted to.

Of course, there were perks (or drawbacks) to dating a criminal. The doorknob rattled a moment more and then it was open, and Ivan was tucking a credit card back into his wallet. His eyes lit up in appreciation when he saw just what Yao was up to in the bedroom, and after securely shutting the door behind himself, he tossed the laundry basket aside uncaringly.

"Hands off," he said. His dark eyes lighting with fire, Yao shook his head and only pumped faster. Ivan's smirk transformed into an innocent, cheery smile and then he was on the bed with a dirty tie in his hands. He was rough as he pinned his smaller lover and forced his hands to the headboard, efficiently securing them in place with the tie. Yao strained his wrists, berating Ivan in rapid, angry Chinese as his lover spread his legs and began to finger him again. Yao tossed his head back against the pillow and rolled his hips against Ivan's hand, eyes squeezed shut tightly in pleasure. He was about to come just from the stimulation to his prostate alone, but then Ivan slowed his pace teasingly. Yao whimpered.

"When I tell you to take your hands off what is mine, what should you do?" Ivan asked sweetly in his ear. Yao cursed him again, trying in vain to wiggle against the fingers filling him but offering no pleasure. At the further show of rebellion, Ivan withdrew his fingers completely and dropped his mouth to Yao's swollen nipple. He licked it and blew over it, teasing it with his tongue and teeth, knowing it was not nearly enough stimulation to tip Yao over the edge. Yao retaliated by biting Ivan's shoulder—hard.

Ivan just laughed, darkly, even as a little blood smeared across his collar bone. He claimed Yao's mouth harshly, tasting his own blood on Yao's lips and forcing Yao to take his tongue down his throat. When the kiss ended, Yao was panting for breath, sweating and desperate, so close to release that it was physically hurting.

"I belong to you…I'm yours…please…_please_!" Yao relented, pressing a small, apologetic kiss against the hollow of Ivan's throat. His bigger lover smiled in pleasure and kissed him more gently, spreading his legs and entering him a second time. Yao gasped against Ivan's mouth and came quickly as his lover mercilessly pounded against his prostate, Yao's slender legs thrown over Ivan's broad shoulders. When he'd come so hard he nearly blacked out, Ivan pulled out and lowered Yao's boneless legs back to the mattress. He roughly undid the restraint and freed Yao's bruised wrists. He gave his precious treasure only a moment to recover before he propped Yao up against a pillow and crawled up his chest. Bracing his upper body against the headboard, he waited expectantly. Yao panted a few seconds more and then tilted his head up, giving Ivan's arousal a lick from base to tip. He placed slender, delicate hands on Ivan's pale thighs and began to suck him off in earnest, still breathing hard as he obediently accepted Ivan's impressive length. His lover thrust deep into his mouth and came without warning, nearly causing Yao to choke. Having quite a bit of practice by this point, though, Yao managed to swallow and weakly wiped at the little bit that spilled past his lips when it was done. Ivan rolled off him and reached for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. Ivan smoked more and more these days, usually with his uncle, but he'd recently started smoking in the house…much to Yao's annoyance. No matter how many times Yao threw away the cigarettes, they'd pop back up in Ivan's drawer.

"Don't you dare…light that…" Yao fussed, still short of breath. Ivan just smirked at him before pulling out a cigarette and flicking his lighter expertly. "Ivan…" Yao warned again, weakly raising up into a sitting position.

"Shut up, _dorogoi_. I like to smoke after I fuck you. I worked hard. I think I earned it," Ivan gloated. Recovering his strength, Yao straddled Ivan's lap and boldly took the cigarette out of his lover's smiling lips.

"I said _no_," Yao insisted. Ivan raised an eyebrow, still smiling. He gave Yao's ass a little squeeze and then spanked him lightly.

"Mmm, and if I don't listen to your nagging?" Ivan asked. Yao lifted his chin imperiously and glared down at the taller boy.

"Then the next time you shove your dick in my face, I'll bite it off," Yao threatened. Ivan laughed hard at this and kissed him, smiling against his mouth. His hands skillfully undid Yao's hair tie and freed the silky strands. He hummed contentedly against Yao's mouth as he played with his smaller lover's hair. Yao relaxed against Ivan's broad chest, knowing he'd won the battle over the cigarette. As much as Ivan liked to boss him around in bed, they both knew who called the shots the second their lovemaking was done.

Yao pulled away from the kiss when he heard a persistent buzzing coming from the general vicinity of Ivan's pants.

"It's your phone," he said.

"Let it ring," Ivan replied, nibbling slowly along Yao's shoulder.

"It could be Natalia. She should be home by now," Yao said, already slipping out of Ivan's hold to fetch the phone. A glance at the caller I.D. revealed it was Alfred. Not ready to give up his comfortable perch just yet, Yao snuggled back against Ivan's chest and let Ivan continue to pet him as he accepted the call from Alfred.

"Talk," he ordered gruffly. Alfred's rather obnoxiously loud voice could be heard even by Yao.

"_My plane is about to take off, but I got a favor I need to ask," _Alfred said.

"No," Ivan replied, clearly still feeling playful. Yao rolled his eyes.

"_Seriously! It's kinda weird, and Arties swears it's just Peter messing around, but when he went back to his old room, the door was unlocked. It kinda makes me nervous. And Artie swears he left his book on the chair in your dorm room, but it's missing and he can't find it anywhere. Just in case someone's trying to mess with him, will you check up on him this next week?" _Alfred asked.

"_Da_, no problem," Ivan replied. Yao had perked up at that, his brows knitted in concern.

"_Thanks man, see ya in a week!"_ Alfred said, before saying goodbye and hanging up.

"That doesn't sound good," Yao said. Ivan nodded. He rubbed Yao's bare back a few moments and then absently kissed at one of his bruised wrists, almost apologetically.

"We could spend the night back up at the school…just to make sure. Zakhar can watch the girls and Raivis," Ivan suggested. Smiling at Ivan's softer, protective side, Yao nodded approvingly. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Ivan's mouth.

"Let me just pack up my homework and throw some clothes in an overnight bag."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I'm not dead! I've been so ridiculously busy it's not even funny, but I've got the rest of the winter break now and nothing to do but write and play Skyrim. Expect either one or two updates…or expect me to switch into writing beast mode and crank out like twelve chapters. It's happened before! I'd actually really like to wrap up this year so I can focus on some other projects for awhile. Poor Diane Long has been waiting on me for months, but I'm hoping we can get our fic out really soon, so keep a look out for that one. It's a 9/11 hurt/comfort fic, and I think it'll be awesome if I can ever get my ass in gear!


	17. Just Waiting

**Chapter 17**

Arthur finally found Peter pestering Patricia as she did her homework outside. Knowing Peter needed a firm hand, Arthur didn't hesitate to get straight to the point.

"Peter, I know you've been messing around in my room," he said, leveling his best and scariest glare at his pint-sized cousin. Impervious, Peter looked up at him with total adoration.

"You came to find me! Are we going to go to the park again together?" Peter asked.

"I'm serious, Peter. Where's my book?" Arthur demanded. Patty glanced between the two relatives with unease.

"Is something wrong, Arthur?" she asked. Patricia didn't really have any friends at World Academy, and while it was kind of strange, Peter was really the only person with whom she spent any time outside of class. She was bullied herself, but she tried to look out for the kid as best she could.

"Yes something's wrong, and Peter knows all about it. Don't let his innocent act fool you. He also denied it when he sold pictures of me to the gossip rags last year!" Arthur accused heatedly. Peter just smiled at him.

"But Arthur, you're so cute when you're sleeping and taking your bubble baths. The whole world deserved to see!" Peter defended. Arthur's large eyebrow twitched and he realized he was getting nowhere.

"Urgh—stay _out_ of my room. I loved that copy of _Hamlet_. If I see it pop up for sale on your stupid website, or if more of my things go missing, I'll…I'll…"

"Take me to the park?" Peter offered, smiling at his older cousin's annoyance. He loved riling up Arthur. He loved attention period, but especially attention from Arthur.

"I'll tell everyone that you still wet the bed!" Arthur threatened in a low voice. Peter was silent for a long moment, and then his bottom lip began to quiver. Feeling sorry for him, Patty gently pulled the boy into a side hug.

"It's okay, Peter. It's not that big of a deal," Patty soothed. Upon seeing the big, hurt tears welling up in Peter's eyes, Arthur instantly felt a little guilty. Peter was always embarrassing him or doing ridiculous things to get his attention, but Arthur had never stooped so low as to try to embarrass the boy back. Even if it was just spilling his secret in front of a nice girl like Patricia, Arthur felt guilty.

He sighed, and his arms uncrossed.

"Stop crying. I won't…I won't tell anyone that. But Peter, you _have_ to respect my privacy," Arthur insisted. His eyes still watering, Peter flashed him a huge, watery smile. The smaller boy lunged forward, squeezing Arthur tightly around his hips.

"I knew you'd never do something so mean! You're too wonderful! That's why I'm going to marry you when I grow up!" Peter enthused. Rolling his eyes, Arthur tried in vain to detach the boy from his midriff.

"Peter, it was cute when you were four, but this is just getting weird. When are you going to stop saying such ridiculous things?" Arthur complained. Like a little leech, Peter wiggled past Arthur's hands and hugged him once more, nearly knocking the breath out of him, before letting him go.

"I just love you more than anyone! I know what will make you happy. I'll find your missing book! I'm quite the detective, you know. Mummy says I'm very good at sticking my nose where it doesn't belong," Peter bragged. Arthur rolled his eyes again and Patty giggled.

"Right. Well, whenever you feel like fetching my book from wherever you've hidden it, I will be grateful for its safe return," Arthur said dryly. Then he shot a questioning look at Patty. "Is he bothering you? I can watch him awhile if you need to get some studying done."

"He's not bothering me at all. Peter and I are friends, aren't we Peter?" Patty asked with a smile at the little boy. He smiled back and returned to his seat at the table beside her. The bell chimed for class and Arthur glanced fretfully at his wristwatch.

"My next class is—"

"Across campus? Room 312?" Peter offered with a smile that was only a little less creepy than Ivan's. Perturbed by the boy all over again, Arthur adjusted his backpack and frowned.

"…right. See you later, Patty," he said.

"Bye Arthur! I love you!" Peter shouted, far too loudly. Nearby students cast them amused looks and Arthur flushed red in embarrassment. As usual, it felt like nothing he'd said to Peter had sunk in, but he could only hope their little chat would deter the boy from crossing the line with his invasive behavior.

As Arthur was walking to class, Yao and Ivan fell into step beside him.

"Do you think he'll stop now?" Yao asked. Arthur flashed Yao a long-suffering look.

"I doubt it. I'll try giving his mum a call, but she can't control him either. There's something wrong with that child. I swear there is," Arthur grumbled. Yao just smiled.

"He is lonely. No brothers or sisters, and he is smarter than all the other kids his age. He probably feels like you understand him," Yao said wisely.

"I don't care at this point. He's a total weirdo," Arthur complained. Ivan snorted.

"And this surprises you? He _is_ related to you, _da_?" Ivan teased.

"Oh shut it. I'm perfectly normal!" Arthur insisted. Yao and Ivan shared an amused glance.

"It really might not have been the kid," Ivan said, his smile still carefree. Arthur shifted a bit uncomfortably and grimaced.

"Alfred got all worked up over nothing. I appreciate you two keeping me company, but I assure you this nonsense is all Peter's mischief," Arthur insisted. Yao seemed to agree with him, but Ivan merely kept smiling.

"There are some sick fucks in this world, Arthur—ones far less innocent than your little cousin. Do not worry. I will watch you very closely until Alfred returns," Ivan said cheerily. Arthur swallowed a bit uncomfortably, thinking that Alfred's plane couldn't return fast enough.

Yao gave him an understanding pat on the shoulder.

"I know it is unsettling having him hulking around you constantly, but you get used to it after awhile," Yao said. Arthur laughed a little unsurely, and then felt a bit awkward when it was obvious Yao wasn't joking.

"Heh…right then," Arthur said, trying to dismiss the whole, strange situation from his mind entirely. He was certain it was all being blown out of proportion.

* * *

><p>"Well, there's only one thing to be done," Peter said very seriously once Arthur had left with his friends. Patty glanced at him, a little afraid of what he might say. Peter seemed pretty normal and mature for his age until Arthur was involved. Then the kid could <em>definitely<em> be creepy.

"I'm a little afraid to hear what you're going to say, Pete," Patricia replied.

"Someone is messing with my cousin…and it truly isn't me. I have competition, it would seem," Peter mused. Patty sighed and went back to struggling with her math homework.

"I wouldn't get involved. You'll only convince Arthur that it _is_ you, and then he'll be less likely to get help from the authorities when he might really need it," Patty said sensibly. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Patty, you didn't carry the two," Peter said absently. Patricia frowned at her work and then noticed the mistake Peter had caught with only a glance. She was terrible at this stuff. She was so distracted by nightmarish visions of failing yet _another_ math test that she didn't hear what Peter said he was off to do. However, when she finally did look up to sheepishly ask Peter to check her work, the little boy was gone. Alone once more, Patty returned to her schoolwork with a sigh.

Peter liked to give his older cousin a hard time, and to a certain extent, he knew it was kind of weird. It was a game they played, though, and Peter knew deep down he'd never want to truly hurt Arthur. He just wanted to be his cousin's best friend, as they had been when they were younger. That was all. If someone was stalking Arthur, then he had no choice but to get to the bottom of it. He was the only one allowed to stalk his cousin, and this book thief was about to learn that the hard way.

First Peter had to secure some supplies. Being a fairly spoiled only child, he already had most of what he needed—expensive camera equipment and an amateur detective kit he'd requested for Christmas last year. He'd almost used up all the talcum powder in the kit, but he should have enough for his investigation. He'd need to stop by the small grocery store on campus to get some cocoa powder.

Knowing that Arthur would be in class for the next two hours, Peter collected what he needed with almost an hour and a half to spare. He went to the room Arthur usually shared with Alfred, which also happened to be the room that the Russian and Chinese kid had been assigned. It was likely this was the room where the book had gone missing.

Peter was well-versed in picking locks. Pulling a paperclip from his backpack, he set about breaking and entering. It took him a long few minutes, but eventually Peter heard the simple lock give way and the door knob turned with ease. Peter stepped inside quickly, but was careful not to touch the knob on the other side of the door. That was the first place he'd dust for fingerprints.

Before he did that, though, he surveyed the room. It was not obvious that the room had any occupants, due to Arthur being fastidiously neat and Alfred being out of town. The room was spotlessly clean, with the exception of two small duffel bags tossed carelessly onto a bed. Pulling out his magnifying glass, Peter set about pretending to know what he was looking for. In truth, he didn't know much at all about solving crimes, and his attempts to use the fingerprinting kit in the past had been less than successful. It mostly just created a large mess of powder and tape that his mother then had to clean up with a long-suffering sigh.

Peter, however, had all the optimism and confidence of a child, with no doubt in his mind that he'd find the vital clue and solve the mystery. He could even post his findings on his website, so that all would-be stalkers would know that his cousin was not to be messed with!

Peter played around with his magnifying glass a bit more and then snooped through the bags on the bed. There was nothing of interest in either of them with the exception of a big bottle of vodka and a rather scary looking knife in one, but Peter knew better than to touch either. Peter then attempted to lift a print off the doorknob, but used far too much powder and far too little delicacy.

All the while, the figure under the bed watched Peter's small feet patter about the room with a rather sinister smile, content to wait him out and sure in the notion that the plan did not have to be abandoned just yet, despite Peter's untimely snooping.

* * *

><p>Alfred smiled softly as the wind picked up Michelle's long, dark hair and blew it about playfully. The water was far too cold to swim in, but the California beach was still beautiful. They'd finished their shoot for the day and were free to get lunch and enjoy the city before the completed their last day of shooting the next day.<p>

"I miss this," Michelle said as he came up beside her.

"You don't have to be without it, ya know. I think special places can heal people," Alfred said. Michelle glanced at him, perhaps a little surprised. Alfred noticed she was no longer wearing all the heavy makeup, and he thought her natural beauty was far more flattering.

"I'm just tired. I want to live by the sea and create my art and make all my jewelry out of seashells," Michelle said wistfully. "At least, that's what I wanted to do when I was a little girl."

"I wanted to be a superhero. I had a name for myself and everything," Alfred admitted with a grin. Michelle smiled at him in amusement.

"Why does that not surprise me? What was your secret identity?" she asked. Alfred sighed.

"Milk Man. Somehow I got it into my head that drinking milk would give me super strength. I'd grow huge muscles and my bones wouldn't be able to break. I thought it was the coolest thing ever until some neighborhood kids stole my sketchbook and saw all my crappy comics. They started saying I liked breast milk and gave me these horrible titty twisters every time they saw me," Alfred said with a self-depreciating grin. Michelle winced.

"Ouch," she commiserated. Alfred kicked a bit at a seashell near the toe of his tennis shoe.

"Yeah…kids can be jerks sometimes."

"But hey…you kinda _did_ become a superhero. Not many people can say they've raised as much money as you have for anti-bullying."

"Eh, I really didn't do much. It was Laura's idea, and the counselor set it all up. I just showed up and took my clothes off."

"And all that milk did your body good. See? It came full circle, Milk Man," Michelle joked, lightly shoving his shoulder. Alfred laughed and shook his head.

"Now I know why superheroes don't tell people their secret identities. You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" he asked.

"Nope!" Michelle said cheerily. They stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, just watching the waves roll in, thinking separate thoughts. Michelle's smile had slowly faded, and when she turned to look up at Alfred, her expression was sad again.

"I never said thank you…for standing up to my ex-manager for me."

"You don't have to thank me. It's what any guy would have done," Alfred said.

"No, I don't think so. I was a bitch to you and your friends. I didn't deserve any help or understanding from you," she said. "I've been so messed up for so long that I don't even remember how to be a good person. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Alfred casually looped his arm around her slender shoulders, giving her a gentle hug.

"You know, if you wanted a great example of being a nice person, I know just the person you could copy," Alfred said with a smile. Michelle looked up at him a little warily.

"You're going to say Matthew, aren't you? Don't you start, too. Every other word out of Francis's mouth is 'Matthew this' and 'Matthew that'—I know he's great and all, but I'm not exactly on his good list. Somehow Francis can be forgiven, but I'm still the evil boyfriend-stealer," Michelle complained bitterly.

"You gotta admit, you started off the year playing the part pretty well," Alfred rebuked gently. Michelle shrugged off Alfred's arm and walked closer to the tide, hugging herself and seeming to Alfred to be very vulnerable just then.

"I know I've hurt people…and myself. Even if you say you don't care, sometimes it's hard not to be the things people say you are," Michelle admitted. When she turned to look at him again, her expression was fierce and angry. "I mean, if they're going to call me a slut no matter what I do, just because of how my body looks, why not? Nobody cares about my art or my personality. I'm just tits and legs and ass."

"Your boyfriend didn't think so," Alfred replied. Michelle winced at his words and turned away again, hugging herself more tightly. When she spoke, Alfred suspected she was crying.

"I used to be happy and innocent. I didn't think like this. I trusted people. I believed in myself. I don't know what happened…I don't know how to fix it."

"Hey, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. And you _aren't_ broken, Shell. You're scared and sad and lost, and really far from home, but you aren't broken. I can scare off jerks that give you trouble, and I can help you make friends again, but nobody can miraculously fix your life. It's not that simple. At least…I think that's what Arthur's been trying to tell me. Heh, sometimes I don't always listen when he lectures me."

Michelle huffed in amusement and wiped at her tears.

"A part of me knows that the pills and the drugs and the sex won't fix anything. It's just scary thinking about facing myself without all of that to…numb me, I guess."

"If you let us, you've got friends that will help you. Me and Arthur and Francis…and I bet Mattie, too, if you'll give him a chance," Alfred said quietly. The wind picked up powerfully and scattered a few of the white-washed gulls, the only other guests to the long stretch of deserted beach.

With her white, gauzy top blowing in the wind and her hair fanning out against a backdrop of ocean, she looked like a lost angel. It seemed as though the visit to the beach had been almost like an emotional baptism for her. Michelle felt cleaner, stronger, and a little more at peace with herself.

"Yeah, I guess I do. We're not little kids anymore. I think it's time I stopped acting like one. I've been acting like a stupid little girl. My love…he would have wanted me to be a strong woman."

Alfred beamed at her, and if she knew him better, Michelle would have spotted the mischievous twinkle in his sky-blue eyes.

"That sounds great and all…but don't be in a rush to grow up _too_ fast. We're still young enough to do really stupid stuff—like this!" Alfred barreled forward, caught Michelle off guard, and easily hoisted her up on his shoulder. She squealed in protest and laughed as he carried her into the freezing water and chunked her into the salty sea. Shivering and cursing, she regained her footing and tackled him back into the water, all while Alfred laughed.

A few hours later found them drying off in the hotel room, nearly blue from their play and still shivering. Alfred's phone rang and he picked it up, smiling to see Arthur's name on the caller ID.

"Hey babe!" he greeted. Arthur voice sounded very tight when he replied.

"_I don't suppose you've seen the news then. I was just calling to assure you that I'm okay. I'm staying—"_

"Wait, what happened? Arthur, what's going on?" Alfred's voice was instantly concerned and demanding, and Michelle watched him worriedly. Alfred gestured at her to turn on the television. As soon as Michelle got it on the local news, the headline flashed sickeningly.

_PRINCE ESCAPED KIDNAPPING ATTEMPT AT WORLD ACADEMY, D.C._

"_Alfred, I'm fine. I'm a little roughed up, but Ivan—"_

"WHAT?" Alfred roared, unable to control his volume.

"_When…when are you coming back?" _Arthur asked. His voice finally cracked and Alfred could hear just how scared he was.

"I'm going to the airport now, Artie. I'll be there in a few hours, okay? Are you with Ivan now?"

"_Yes. My parents want me to fly home, but I was just released from the hospital and for now I'm at Ivan's house," _Arthur said shakily.

"Put Ivan on the phone for me," Alfred said. A few moments later, Ivan's gruff voice came on the line.

"_He is safe here,"_ Ivan said calmly.

"I want him at the White House. I'm going to call my dad now and he'll send the security team. I don't know all the details yet but I know you probably saved his life. Thank you, man. If there's _ever_ anything—"

"_Da, da…I know who to call. Now call your father. Then call him back. He needs to hear your voice,"_ Ivan said gruffly. The line went dead.

"Alfred, what—"

"Not right now," Alfred shushed, his fingers flying over the keys on his phone. His dad didn't answer, so he immediately called his mom.

"_Hun, I saw the news, and Arthur's mother already called me. I called the hospital but he'd already left with the Russian kid."_ His mother was quick and to the point, as usual.

"Do you have a pen? I'll give you the address. Ivan's waiting for you to send security to pick him up."

"_Okay, got one. Give it to me," _Helen said briskly. Once Alfred had given her the address, he hung up with not so much as a goodbye and was already calling Arthur again. As he did this, he hurriedly threw clothes into his suitcase and changed into dry clothing. Michelle watched the news until the brief news report concluded by saying they still did not have much information on what had happened at World Academy.

"_Alfred?"_ Arthur's shaky voice asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm sorry, but I had to call my mom and tell her where to go to pick you up. You'll be _really_ safe at the White House."

"_Okay. I should have thought about that, but I was confused after it happened and—Alfred?" _

"Yeah?" Alfred replied, stuffing his feet into his shoes and nodding silently at Michelle in thanks when she handed him his wallet.

"_I love you. It was horrible…the things he said he was going to do to me. I know I'm safe now but I can't properly rest. He...he was under the bed, just waiting."_

"I'm on my way, Arthur. I love you so much, and I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

"_What about the commercial?"_ Arthur asked shakily, though he seemed to be regaining his stiff upper lip. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"For a guy who reads as many big books as you do, you can be kind of an idiot sometimes. I could care less about the dumb commercial right now."

"_Heh…always have to be the hero, don't you?" _Arthur joked weakly.

"You know it, baby," Alfred said. He waited for Arthur to chastise him for calling him 'baby,' but the scolding didn't come. That's when he knew just how shook up Arthur must have been. "Just hang in there a few more hours and then I'll be there, okay?"

"_Okay. Why is it I'm always getting into messes and you always have to jump in a plane to come save me?" _Arthur asked, referring to when he'd asked Alfred to fly to France earlier in the year. Alfred smiled fondly, pausing for just a second to try to calm his racing heart and to convince himself that his Arthur was really okay.

"Heh…it's a bad side effect of dating a hero. Kinda makes you the damsel in distress."

"_You're an idiot,"_ Arthur said, though his voice was full of love.

"But I'm—"

"_My idiot…yes, I know, love. For always." _

Alfred brushed away the tears clouding in his eyes and smiled determinedly. He'd rent a jet if it meant he'd get home to Arthur faster. Arthur needed him, and he was going to be there for him…for always.

**A/N: **I have this ridiculous fear that if someone ever broke into my house, they'd be hiding under my bed. Now Arthur shares my paranoia. ;) More tying up of loose ends to set the stage for the end of October.

That's right. One funeral, one eating disorder, one break-up, one hook-up, and a stalker attack and we're only two months into the school year. Facepalm. I was at the hospital with my grandpa yesterday (just a UTI) and the lobby TV had this TERRIBLE soap opera on. In the thirty minutes I watched, it had amnesia, baby daddy drama, plastic surgery to assume someone else's identity, and (I kid you not) _time travel_. I was like "Oh look…the plot of The Senior Year."

Thanks for all the reviews and support, despite my long absence. And I promise, if there ever is a Senior Year…it will not involve time travel. I make no promises about the other stuff though, lol.


	18. Nightmares

Sophomore Year

**Chapter 18**

Arthur came in from a long day of classes and placed his book bag neatly on the desk. He'd been speaking to Yao about Student Council matters, but he trailed off mid-sentence upon entering his room.

"They replaced you with that horrid girl who—what the bloody hell?" Arthur frowned at the powder scattered thickly over the room's pristine, white carpet. There was more of it on the desk, smeared down the door, and (most telling of all) the box for the detective kit had been forgotten behind the desk.

"What is all this?" Yao asked. Arthur frowned and his fists clenched angrily.

"_Peter_! Ugh! I _knew_ it was him. He got this detective kit last Christmas. I know because he pestered my mum to buy it for him for months. He's been in here messing around—no doubt about it now."

"Isn't that a good thing? At least you know it is not something more serious now," Yao said. Arthur shrugged his shoulders dismissively and continued frowning at the mess.

"I have half a mind to track him down and make _him_ clean this up…but then he'd likely never leave. We'll never get any studying done," Arthur said grumpily. Yao flashed his friend a smile and thought about how accustomed he'd grown to cleaning up small little messes since moving in with a two year old.

"I will help. It won't take long at all, Arthur," Yao said casually. Arthur seemed to relax a little and finally unclenched his fists.

"Thank you, Yao. I suppose I _should_ be relieved. Are you sure you don't want this room tonight?" Arthur asked. Yao returned from the attached bathroom with a wet rag.

"You typically sleep here, don't you? Ivan and I will take the empty room. It is no trouble."

"Alright then. I should text Alfred and let him know it really was just Peter. I told him so. I don't know why he frets over me as he does," Arthur mused absently. Yao just smiled and passed Arthur the rag. The two cleaned up Peter's mess in silence and then moved to Alfred's neatly made bed, where they spread out their school books and waited for Ivan to finish with class and join them.

"It's nice to study with someone who knows what they're doing for once," Arthur commented with a small smirk. Yao marked down an answer and glanced back up at him, his expression equally mischievous.

"Likewise," he said.

"So…how are things with Ivan?" Arthur asked. "I mean…living together, and all, with his sisters and his uncle and a toddler…"

"This isn't the first time you've asked me that," Yao commented shrewdly. Arthur blushed.

"I suppose…it just seems so grown-up. I can't quite get used to the idea," Arthur replied. Yao's smile turned soft and he was quiet for awhile while he looked something up.

"You want the same thing with Alfred someday?" Yao asked knowingly. Arthur swallowed thickly and pressed a little too hard on his pencil tip.

"I…that is to say…I might have _thought_ about it…once or twice," Arthur replied.

"And you worry Alfred has not?" Yao guessed again. Arthur let out a long sigh, and looked rather like a deflating balloon.

"Precisely. I wish circumstances would somehow throw us together, as it worked for you and Ivan. I'm worried if we have to make the choice ourselves it won't ever happen. Something will get in the way, or we'll fight too much, or…or…I don't know. I just worry about it. I want it and I worry about it at the same time. But Alfred never thinks of the future. He lives in the moment and says he trusts me to make all the plans, but I can't help but feel—"

"That one day he'll stop following your lead?" Yao concluded wisely. Arthur fell silent and nodded, glumly. Yao flipped the page of his textbook and rummaged about for a new page of paper.

"I cannot see the future, but Alfred seems happy enough to me. I am sure you will make it work somehow, even with all the obstacles in the way," Yao said. Arthur flashed Yao a small smile, thankful for his friend's vote of confidence.

"Yes. Of course. I'm in a right silly mood today, aren't I?"

"I find you are typically insecure. Today is not all that different," Yao said in his blunt, straightforward manner. Arthur felt a little put-out by it, but realized Yao's honesty was what made his company refreshing, even if it stung a bit at times.

"Heh…well…I think I've solved this one. Did you get thirty six as the answer?" Arthur asked, peering over at Yao's finished pre-calculus homework. Yao glanced at his work and nodded, just as the door opened and Ivan entered.

"The door should have been locked," he said by way of greeting. He was scowling. Arthur smiled apologetically, and Yao got up to greet him with a hug and a chaste kiss.

"Oh, really no need to worry anymore. We found out it was Peter after all. He was in here playing and left one of his toys," Arthur explained. Ivan stared critically at Arthur for a long, almost awkward moment before he grunted in what Arthur could only guess was agreement.

"We can return home then, right?" Yao asked as he peered up at Ivan. The taller boy nodded, but it seemed very noncommittal. He stared around the room a bit, but finding nothing amiss, eventually picked up their bags.

"I suppose we will go then," he said finally. Arthur found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Even though Ivan was Alfred's good friend, and he was practically Yao's husband, he still made Arthur on-edge and uncomfortable. Yao packed up his studying things quickly and surprised Arthur by giving him a quick hug.

"Do not worry about Alfred leaving you. If you are that concerned though, I can teach you how to cook. Alfred is like Ivan—fat, western pig! Cook good food and you will never get rid of him," Yao said with a smile that he clearly meant to be reassuring. Arthur, however, felt mortified about Ivan realizing they'd been gossiping about their relationships like teenage girls in his absence. He flushed hotly and tugged a bit at his collar, avoiding Ivan's mocking gaze.

"Er…cooking together sometime…right. I'm…err…glad we took care of that Student Council business, too," Arthur said. Ivan merely raised a silvery blond brow, as if to express his doubt that anything academic was actually discussed between the two friends.

Yao shot him a mildly confused look before clearly deciding to just let it go. He shrugged a delicate shoulder and turned on his heel, leaving Ivan to carry the bags. At the door, he slipped back into his shoes and was gone with a final parting. Ivan didn't say anything at all, but the look in his lavender eyes was still a little mocking. Arthur sighed when they were gone, and collapsed a little dramatically against his bed.

Deciding he wasn't ready to do more school work, Arthur began to unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie. A relaxing bath sounded heavenly.

**WARNING - RAPE SCENE UNTIL NEXT LINE**

* * *

><p>A few moments later he was sinking into the warm water up to his chin, and feeling all his nerves and anxieties melt harmlessly away. He closed his eyes and began to stroke lightly over his stomach, not thinking about anything in particular, but realizing he'd get turned on if he kept it up. He trailed his hand a little lower, and tugged a bit at the blond curls between his legs. He bit his lower lip, his eyes still firmly closed, and pictured Alfred's hand wrapping around him.<p>

He'd just given himself a few good strokes when the plastic was wrapped snugly around his head. His eyes slammed open but the world was distorted through the crinkled bag. He saw only a big black blob hovering over him. Arthur's survival instincts kicked in and he began to thrash, his hands slipping uselessly off the soapy sides of the tub. He used up what little oxygen was in the plastic bubble almost instantly, and started going lightheaded as he struggled against his attacker. His eyes rolled backwards and he went limp.

When Arthur awoke, he was naked on his and Alfred's bed, his hands tied to the headboard with what felt like a school tie and another strip of silky fabric tied firmly around his eyes. A few wadded up socks were stuffed in his mouth, and no matter how furiously Arthur worked his tongue, he could not dislodge them in order to scream.

"Awake?" a voice whispered. Arthur tried desperately to place it, but it was impossible. The breathy, monotone whisper could have belonged to anyone. He turned his head weakly from side to side a few times, and flinched harshly when the stranger's hand landed over his pierced nipple.

"I saw the video of you getting this, Arthur. It was so naughty of you…piercing yourself like that and putting it on the internet for everyone to see. That was when I realized what a slut you were. That was when I started planning how I'd punish you for toying with me."

Arthur whimpered in pain as the hand's gentle patting transformed into a harsh tugging and twisting. He'd never played with the piercing so roughly before and it _hurt_. His eyes widened hugely behind the blindfold and he imagined the pain he'd feel if the stranger ripped the little stud out. He felt tears begin to gather in the corner of his eyes as the sharp bolts of pain in his nipple didn't stop.

It was almost a relief when the hand stopped and trailed downwards, but not by much. Arthur tried twisting, even though it hurt his wrists horribly, and tried contorting his body as much as he could to get that awful hand off his heaving chest, but to no avail.

"You should know…this isn't the first time I've been here. I've come into your room plenty of times. At first I just touched your things. Soon, that wasn't enough. I took little things…things you wouldn't notice…your sock one time…a pair of your briefs the next. I had so much…_fun_…with those. Then I took your book. It smells like you." As his attacker said this, he jerked Arthur's head to the side harshly and breathed in his scent, invading Arthur's personal space and flicking his tongue against the vulnerable skin of Arthur's throat.

Arthur wanted to throw up, but the gag prevented him. He bit into it harshly instead, the tears flowing more readily now, as his attacker's roving hand began to caress his limp member. His ankles were bound like his hands, and while he had a little more freedom to clench his thighs together, he could not protect his privates at all. The voice continued to whisper—never rising in tone or pitch—completely flat and soft.

"Arthur…I'm going to kill you. Not today. So relax. Relax for me. That's it," the voice continued. The hand was pumping him gently, and now another hand was sliding up between his thighs.

"Today I'm just going to punish you. You spend all your time with that _stupid_ Jones. You don't even _notice_ me. Not anymore. Now you notice me, don't you? Arthur…you're getting hard for me…all for me."

Arthur tried to fight it, he honestly did, but his body was betraying him completely. The tears came even faster, soaking the fabric of the blind, and he made a low, hurt keening noise into the gag. The hand on his cock clenched harder, until the grip was almost painful, and Arthur felt with terror in his gut the bed dip and a knee slide up between his legs.

The voice mentioning Alfred did it for him. Arthur began to buck and squirm like a wild animal, pulling harshly on the restraints with no regard for the popping noises of bones and the sharp stabs of pain as his muscles protested. The sound of fabric ripping filled the air and then Arthur had a hand free. He swung wildly, but the blow was weak and only allowed his attacker to catch his wrist and force it to the bed. Arthur felt the pain then, and realized his arm had to be broken, or his shoulder dislocated. He screamed into the gag.

"You're being bad, Arthur. You hurt yourself again. You like the pain, don't you? You're such a little…fucking…_slut_!" The knee finally reached its goal and Arthur felt the harsh fabric of the attacker's pants pressed against his hole. His erection was gone at least, but the man still had one hand firmly wrapped around his dick, and now the grip felt threatening. His attacker pressed on his arm again and Arthur screamed once more, muffled by the gag, and shook his head furiously right and left. Cautiously, the hand released his wrist. Arthur wanted to strike him again, wanted to pull off the gag and the blindfold, but the smallest twitch of his fingers made pain rocket up his arm. He whimpered and didn't move, wishing he could curl protectively around his throbbing arm.

"I didn't want to break anything yet. You did that to yourself. I just wanted to do this. I just wanted to _feel_ what will soon be mine," the voice finally cracked a bit, and Arthur realized it was a rather low voice. Not much else registered in the haze of pain as a dry finger in a coarse glove slipped down beside the knee between his legs and prodded at his hole. Arthur screamed, this time in pure fury and outrage, as the finger pushed inside him and withdrew in a parody of someone preparing his lover. It hurt, and Arthur screamed, but he mostly felt anger. How _dare_ he? When Arthur finally got free he was going to _kill_ him! He would rip him limb from bloody limb!

The reality of the situation crashed down on Arthur when the fingers withdrew and he realized he felt blood between his legs. His arm was useless, his throat was raw from screaming, and he felt like the skin on his wrists and ankles had been entirely rubbed off.

"You're so tight. I could even pretend you're a virgin when I fuck you for the first time. If you make it good for me, I might not kill you so soon," the voice promised, with the hint of a sick smile. Fingers slid up Arthur's belly again, this time slick with something, and then the hand was around his throat.

"I want to choke you blue. One day I will…one day…"

Suddenly, the door rattled and then banged open. Arthur's attacker was off him in a second. As the newcomer barreled into the room with a distinctly Russian sounding battle cry, the attacker flung the window open and threw himself out of it with nimble grace. Ivan pursued him, but he couldn't easily get through the window and he lost sight of the attacker within seconds. It had all happened in a matter of seconds, and (panting and huffing for breath) Ivan came back inside the building with a furious scowl of defeat.

He slammed the window down and turned to the bed, glaring even more fiercely at what he saw there. Quickly, he pulled the blindfold off and freed the gag from Arthur's mouth. The royal's face was a mess of snot and tears, and his green eyes looked like liquid emeralds in the darkened room. Ivan quickly surveyed the damage—badly bruised shoulder, already swelling, more bruises on Arthur's chest and around his throat, blood smeared over his belly and between his legs. Ivan set to work on the restraints, while Arthur cursed in a hoarse voice. He cursed and cried for Alfred and begged Ivan not to leave him all in a messy, panicked jumble.

"I am here now. You are safe. Breathe. Breathe!" Ivan ordered, finally shouting a bit to make Arthur realize he was having a panic attack. The prince began to suck in great mouthfuls of air and he stopped babbling. Instead, his watery eyes took on a blankness Ivan recognized as the look of someone in shock.

Ivan finished untying the last restraint and then fetched a blanket to drape over Arthur's slender, naked body. He pulled out his phone then and dialed for the authorities, and hastily explained the situation. Then he called Yao, who didn't answer—probably still sleeping at home.

"The ambulance will be here soon, _da_? You are safe now," Ivan repeated, though Arthur didn't seem like he could hear him. He was simply whimpering in pain, a noise so pathetic it almost sounded animalistic. Ivan cursed under his breath. He started to call Alfred, but then thought better of it.

Not knowing what else to do, he waited. Cops came bursting in a short twenty minutes later, and medical workers followed soon after. Ivan braced himself for the questioning, which started almost as soon as Arthur was loaded onto the stretcher and being wheeled towards the ambulance. Students peeked curiously into the hallway and stared unabashedly as Arthur was wheeled away into the night. Ivan went resignedly with the police, knowing he was in for a long night.

* * *

><p>When Alfred got home, he stopped only in the living room to ask his mother where Arthur was without waiting for her to answer. He raced up the stairs and barreled down the hallway, passing temporarily alarmed security guards, to burst into his bedroom and then wince apologetically when Arthur nearly screamed and jolted in the bed like he'd been electrocuted.<p>

"Sorry!" Alfred said sheepishly. Arthur had started to cry upon seeing him and just reached out for him wordlessly. Alfred stripped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes as he hastily made his way across the room. In seconds, he was pressed against Arthur's side, holding his boyfriend tightly as he sobbed against Alfred's chest.

"Shhhh…I'm here now…I'm _so_ sorry, Artie. I won't leave you again, I promise! Next time I'll take you with me. Sshhh…I'm here," Alfred soothed as best he could, not even really knowing what he was saying.

"Alfred, it was…he…he…" Arthur seemed to fall apart beyond those few, stuttering words. He sobbed his frustration against Alfred's chest and finally allowed himself to have the meltdown that had been brewing since he recovered a bit in the emergency room. Alfred held him, mindful of the heavy bandages around his right shoulder, and waited out the storm. They stayed together like that for nearly an hour, with Alfred comforting and Arthur crying and stammering out the story.

The part that killed Alfred—the part he knew was coming but hated to hear—was that whoever had hurt his boyfriend was still out there. He'd escaped, and he'd left no evidence behind.

"Arthur, I know it's not okay…but I'm going to kill him if he so much as looks at you again. Understand? He won't _ever_ touch you again."

"Just don't leave me, love. Stay? I keep dreaming about it, and waking up alone…"

"You can sleep now, Artie. I'll hold you, okay? If you look like you start to have a bad dream, I'll wake you up."

"…promise?" Arthur said weakly. He had clearly exhausted himself crying and reliving the experience.

"I promise," Alfred vowed. Reluctantly, though with great relief, Arthur finally let his eyes drift shut and he sagged into Alfred's strong hold.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I'm sorry I jumped around a bit in the timeline, but I didn't want to have to stop Arthur's part to show the scene between Alfred and Michelle that was in the last chapter—didn't think it would help the mood. I apologize if this chapter was too graphic/disturbing/dramatic. For awhile, I was going to take the less cliché route and have the kidnapper only be after money or something…but I couldn't resist the temptation of some good, old-fashioned hurt/comfort in the end. The stalker is still out there! What will happen next? Tune in next time! (and thanks as always for reviews—they always help motivate me to start the next chapter after some time has passed!)

Another apology is necessary for the extreme lateness of this chapter. This time of year is rough for teachers. State tests are coming and with extra tutorials, Saturday school (trust me, teachers like it even less than the students) and family obligations I've been way too stressed to write anything that wasn't complete crap. I am really very sorry for the long wait, though. Just know—I will NOT abandon this story!


	19. Shooting Stars

Chapter 19

October came to World Academy like a sinister stranger. Matthew huddled down in his hoodie and frowned at the icy puffs of wind kicking up leaves over the campus. The buildings that had seemed so shiny and modern upon arrival now seemed too sharp and cold. October in England had been a fun month. They'd all been planning their Halloween costumes and flirting harmlessly. This year, nothing was harmless and everything was wrong.

The entire campus knew there was an escaped rapist in their midst, and as Halloween grew closer, the stories about the rapist grew wilder. Matthew currently sat alone on a bench where Gilbert used to skateboard, but his boyfriend was not with him. Despite the unofficial rule that nobody should walk around alone anymore, Matthew still found himself driven to leave the buildings of the school and go wandering on the grounds. He and Gilbert had walked together often at first, but as the newness of their relationship wore off, Matthew spent more and more time alone. He wasn't avoiding Gilbert, per say, but he didn't want to spend time around him when he was high. He'd known Gilbert did drugs when he started dating him, but that didn't mean he liked it. Matthew didn't really know what to do about it, though, so he just stayed silent and went walking by himself.

A shadow fell over the bench and Matthew jumped a bit, turning around quickly to see who'd sneaked up on him. Matthew's violet eyes widened in surprise and then lit up with delight.

"Francis!" Matthew said happily. Francis flashed him a tired smile and seemed genuinely happy to see him. They stood with the bench in between them for a few awkward seconds before Matthew simply hopped over it and hugged the taller boy. Laughing, Francis hugged him tightly back and perhaps lingered a bit too long considering they were exes.

When they parted, Matthew seemed to remember himself and his smile faded some. He coughed a bit and stepped back, casting his eyes to the ground. Francis ducked his head over until he caught Matthew's shy gaze, and smiling, coaxed him into staring at him once more.

"Considering what's going on here, why are you out all alone?" Francis asked with a little bit of sternness in his tone. Matthew frowned slightly at the mention of the rapist and looked away again, off towards the cold, modern buildings glinting in the morning sunlight like light off a razor blade.

"I've been playing hockey. I can hold my own now," Matthew said, with a just a little bit of defiance coloring his tone. Francis grinned. Casually, as if was no big deal at all, Francis moved up beside him and dropped an arm around his shoulders. More out of surprise than anything else, Matthew fell into step with him, blinking up at him rather owlishly.

"I can tell. That jacket was really too loose on you when you bought it last year. You've bulked up in your shoulders." Francis accompanied this assessment with a subtle squeeze on Matthew's upper arm. It made the younger boy blush and he thought of Gilbert. He shrugged Francis's arm off his shoulder and put some distance between them.

"We can't…I'm with Gilbert now," Matthew said quietly, but firmly. Francis looked at him in amused surprise.

"I just put an arm around your shoulder, Matthew. It's not a big deal. I'm just happy to see you again. I just arrived not even a half hour ago," Francis said. With a devious grin, he put his hands in his pockets. "Better?"

Matthew glared (though it looked more like a pout) and eventually rolled his eyes and began walking again.

"Here to visit Michelle again?" Matthew asked. He was proud of himself for keeping almost all the bitterness out of his voice. Francis looked at the sky, and then at the practically vacant campus.

"Michelle broke up with me. Three weeks ago, actually. I'm back now for good—for school," Francis said. Matthew stopped walking and stared at the other boy in surprise.

"Are you…I mean…you don't seem upset," Matthew finally settled on saying. Francis shrugged.

"I love Michelle. She's been through a lot and she needed someone at the same time I needed someone. We helped each other heal and now it's time for her to move on. I understand."

Matthew didn't want to cry, but he felt tears begin to sting his eyes. The old Matthew would have brushed them away, or blamed them on allergies, but Matthew was not who he used to be. He didn't want to let other people hurt him and walk all over him anymore. It was time he said what he should have said to Francis a long time ago.

"You had me. I could have been there for you. I _was_ there for you. I would have done anything for you—anything at all—and you…you…YOU THREW IT AWAY! And for WHAT? A girl who doesn't even love you? What was it, Francis, because I really want to know! Was it her looks? Is it because I'm not a girl? What could she give you that I couldn't because I _know_ she didn't love you more! All this time I've blamed Michelle, but Alfred was right! You were the one who let me go, and you know what? You were really, _really_ fucking stupid!"

Matthew was breathing harshly after his outburst, tears falling down his cheeks from huge, reddened lavender eyes. His fists were clenched at his sides and his wavy hair blew around his face in the wind. Everything in the empty school yard seemed to be completely silent. No birds flew, no bells rang, and even the rustling leaves seemed as though they'd been muted.

For a long, long time, Francis was quiet, too. Finally, tears began to slide down his cheeks to mirror Matthew's. The taller boy shrugged, almost helplessly.

"I made a mistake, Matthew. I knew it right away…but you didn't. You didn't even value yourself enough to be properly angry at me. Even now, you think she must have been better than you in some way, or that surely you had to be lesser than her. You didn't blame me because you thought—you _actually_ thought—you had failed _me_. I cheated on you, Matthew. And you know what? Michelle wasn't the only one. You put me up on a pedestal that I didn't deserve. I was a stupid, worthless cheating scum bag and I treated you like dirt! You didn't deserve it, and yet you blame yourself. Now who sounds fucking stupid?" Francis asked harshly.

Matthew had never truly felt hatred before, but in that moment, he honestly, sincerely and utterly _hated_ Francis Bonnefoy. It was one of those moments where Matthew could think of a million things to say. The words burned on his tongue. He wanted to scream and hit and curse until Francis realized just how big of a jerk he was…but no words came. He stood silent, choking on his own words, wishing for just _once_ that he could be the person who knew just the right thing to say. He felt like the pathetic person Francis claimed him to be.

And then…something snapped.

"I'm stronger now. I didn't deserve what you did to my heart. The only pathetic one here is _you_—playing games with people's emotions and, what? Cheating on me to teach me some sort of twisted lesson about respecting myself? Is that honestly the garbage that you're telling yourself? I guess it makes sense that if you lied to me, you'd lie to yourself, too!"

"You kissed Jones! You gave the school stoner a blow job! Are you forgetting all that? Because I didn't!"

"SHUT UP!"

"Why? You didn't want to hear lies, so let's say the truth—you're secretly a slut! You want everyone to think you're sweet and innocent but that threesome was _your_ idea!"

Matthew charged forward with a guttural shout and tackled Francis to the ground. They rolled around furiously, scratching, punching, and pulling hair. Matthew used all his hard earned upper body strength and punched Francis as hard as he could. Francis's lip burst open and blood began to fly. Enraged, Francis flipped Matthew beneath him and cocked his fist back, but at the last second, he slammed it into the ground beside Matthew's ear and captured Matthew's lips in a searing, painful, demanding kiss.

And Matthew gave as good as he got.

After what felt like a small eternity, Francis felt himself being roughly hauled off Matthew. It felt like they'd been kissing for a lifetime, but in reality it must have only been a few seconds. One of the new campus security guards had Francis in a chokehold and a school coach was rapidly approaching. He reached Matthew and pulled him off the ground.

"Was he attacking you?" The security guard yelled. "Was he trying to rape you?"

"What? Oh, God no—we—he—" Matthew stuttered, unable to put the security guard's fears to rest. He suddenly realized how bad the situation looked.

"I'm not…_merde_!" Francis switched to French and began rapidly proclaiming his innocence. A crowd of students began to gather, and of course, Alfred and Arthur were among them. Immediately, Alfred was by Matthew's side, glaring angrily at Francis.

"What the fuck, man? Did you hit him? I'm going to fucking kill you!" Alfred came at Francis before the coach or the security guard could stop him and he landed a fairly hard punch on Francis's midriff. Arthur came into the fray to pull Alfred off, but that was a little like trying to pull a Rottweiler off a turkey leg. In the scuffle, Arthur got elbowed in the eye and he felt his already injured shoulder strain and pop again.

Suddenly, a buzzing noise filled the air and Alfred dropped heavily to the ground, twitching. The fight was officially over.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Are you donut junkies listening? That rent-a-cop TASERED me! That's, like, completely against the law! I'm an American and I have <em>rights<em>!" Alfred half-shouted for the millionth time. The four of them sat in the police station, all of them cuffed and bleeding and looking terrible. Arthur was slowly and dully thwacking his head against the chair behind him, perhaps hoping he'd eventually knock himself out and would no longer have to listen to Alfred's loud, high pitched complaining…or Francis's and Matthew's bickering.

"This is all _your_ fault!" Matthew hissed for the millionth time.

"My fault? This is the second time that idiot has assaulted me! Why does everyone keep hitting me and saying it's _my_ fault? I didn't hit YOU!"

"That's because you're a foppish pansy!" Matthew retorted. Alfred banged his handcuffs against the metal chair he was sitting on.

"HEY! My dad's the freaking president! That means you can't arrest me! And I've got, like, six million followers on Twitter! As soon as I get my phone I'm telling the people what you've done! They won't stand for this! Look at you all! You're doing NOTHING! Give the damn coffee machine a rest! This is probably what you were doing when my boyfriend got raped—sitting on your assess writing speeding tickets!"

Arthur started banging his head a little harder.

A very large, very intimidating police officer finally came around the glass wall and glared stonily at Alfred. Alfred glared right back.

"Listen kid, you seriously need to shut the hell up. You're all sixteen, and that means I can arrest you. Why don't you be a good little boy and keep your mouth shut till Daddy comes to bail you out, alright?"

Alfred glared. The police officer glared. The stand-off ended when the officer huffed and started to walk away. Arthur held his breath and stopped the banging…knowing it was coming…just waiting for it…

"Yeah, run away! The donut shop is about to close so you better get your fat ass moving!"

That was how they ended up getting arrested together. Unluckily for Arthur, they were put in the same cell together. For approximately twenty minutes, everyone was furious with everyone else, and they all sat in stony silence. Surprisingly, it was Matthew who spoke up first.

"This…is kinda funny."

Arthur glared with his good eye—the other one was swollen shut. Alfred just scowled and leaned over to flop dramatically against the bars, only to yelp in pain when he was shocked with static electricity. It made Matthew crack, and he started giggling.

"They…they _tasered_ you. I can't believe you actually got _tasered_!" Matthew's statement coaxed an amused grin out of Francis, which rapidly turned into a full laugh when Alfred puffed up like an angry bird.

"I am going to be charged for raping Arthur. _Arthur_…of all people…can't they see that I have _much _better taste?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, FROG! You're so fucking insensitive it's not even funny! And YOU! You elbowed me in the bloody eye! Some hero you are! Some protector! My arm is swelling up like…like…something that's really fucking swollen and it's all because you CAN'T KEEP YOUR BLOODY TRAP CLOSED!" Arthur huffed and then added, "LIKE USUAL!"

"Arthur…I'm sorry, baby." Alfred said, looking like he truly felt very, very guilty. He'd tried apologizing numerous times already, but each time Arthur just got a very scary look on his face and glared at him until Alfred shut his mouth.

Luckily, Alfred was dumbly persistent if nothing else. He slowly inched closer to Arthur until the glare returned.

"Don't. touch. me."

"Look at it this way, guys…it really can't get worse. I don't see how it could _possibly _get worse," Matthew said.

"How is it that we're all in prison and Ivan isn't in here with us? Something is seriously wrong with this picture," Alfred huffed.

"You're lucky I'm not, da? Otherwise, who would bail your stupid asses out of jail?" The four miserable teens looked up to see none other than Ivan and Yao standing outside their cell. In perhaps a rare moment of rationality, Alfred had called Ivan instead of his mother. Now, twenty minutes after they'd all been hauled into the station, Ivan and Yao had arrived to bail them out instead of the Channel Six news with his mother and father.

The guard accompanying Ivan just shook his head and opened the door.

"You're free to go, since nobody wants to press charges," the officer said.

Alfred flung his arms around Ivan like an idiot while the hulking Russian tried his hardest to push the enthusiastic American away. Ignoring the two dumbasses, Yao quietly went to Arthur's side and helped him up. Matthew stood and dusted off his pants. He looked down at Francis, who looked unsurely back up at him. With a sigh, Matthew extended his hand. Francis took it and soon they were both standing, staring at each other with a million questions in their eyes.

"Ugh, I know we're in prison guys, but can you drop the soap later? Stop looking like such a creeper rapist or they'll never let us go, Francis!" Alfred griped.

And it was right then that the utter absurdity of the situation hit Arthur like a ton of bricks. First he smiled, then he laughed, and then he started crying hysterically as all the stress and tension of the past two weeks slowly drained out of him.

The guard looked highly uncomfortable.

"Will you six just _leave_ already? You're scaring the other inmates."

So leave they did. They found themselves eventually at the canal behind Ivan's neighborhood, with a 24-case of beer.

"This year…has been _so_ fucked up!" Matthew moaned, hiccupping a little as he peered into the darkness of his can.

"I don't even…I don't even…Artie?" Alfred asked drunkenly, squeezing the boy in his arms just a little too tightly.

"Yeah?" Arthur grunted. He was perhaps the drunkest of all of them.

"I love you. Like, so much." Alfred said.

"Mmm," Arthur said noncommittally.

"An'…an' I _hate_ that you're scared of me now."

Arthur stayed very quiet in Alfred's arms, and everyone else (all drunk, except for Yao) remained respectfully quiet. Then Arthur, as if remembering his fear, pushed himself clumsily out of Alfred's lap.

"Lemme go," he slurred.

"But Artie! No! I'd never hurt you! I didn't mean ta…ta…hurt your eye. Baby, I'm soooo sorry!"

"I said lemme go!" Arthur protested, drunkenly escaping Alfred's grip and half-stumbling, half-crawling away into the higher grass. His one good shoulder began to shake with the effort of holding up his body, and he started retching.

"Okay…I think Arthur has had enough. I am taking him back to the house," Yao said officiously, leaving no room for argument. Although he was the thinnest in the group, Yao easily hefted Arthur to his feet and ducked under his good arm. "You are going to be okay, Arthur. Stop crying. Everything will be okay," Yao soothed in a gentle voice. Alfred's heart seemed to break at those words, and he tried to stand to follow the two, but Ivan roughly knocked him back to the grass.

"You're too drunk. Just stay put. I'll get them home," Ivan said. "Besides, he clearly is sick of your fucking mouth _never_ shutting up!" Ivan said. Alfred sniffled and ducked his head into his folded arms, feeling perhaps even worse than earlier in the day, when he'd been tasered with enough force to knock a cow to its knees.

Matthew, ever the friendly drunk, dropped his arm around Alfred's shoulders.

"S'okay, Alfie. I'm here."

"T-this night has r-really sucked! It's been two weeks…an' I'm tryin' to be a good boyfriend…but he…he…_hates_ me now an' everything I do is _wrong_!" Alfred sobbed into his arms. Francis, who was nicely buzzed off the beer and feeling melancholy, made a silent toast of agreement to Alfred's words and took another swig of his beer.

"Life is shit. All of it," Francis said.

"Shut up, Francis. You're stupid," Matthew said grumpily. Francis frowned.

"You've got to leave him…the stoner. You should be with me," Francis said. He was staring intensely at his beer, as if it held the answers to solving all the problems in his life. Matthew glared at him drunkenly for a few moments and then slumped against Alfred's shoulder.

"He's great. I really like Gilbert but he…he's high, like, _all _the time. It's stupid." Apparently, that was Matthew's favorite word when he was drunk.

"Tell 'em to stop. He needs ta…jus' say no, man," Alfred slurred, temporarily forgetting his problems with Arthur. "Drugs are bad."

"So is drinking, but look at us? We're fucking hardened criminals now, no? We've been to _jail_," Francis said dramatically, taking a big swig and then dropping onto his back, staring up at the stars in wonder. "It's so…big."

Matthew flopped backwards, too, pulling Alfred down with him. The three boys all lay shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the sky.

"We're really drunk," Matthew observed.

"Yeah," Francis agreed. A shooting star began to burn brightly as it streaked across the sky. Alfred suddenly grew very concerned.

"It's gonna…it's gonna…hit Arthur! I've gotta go help him!" Matthew pulled him back down.

"You're an idiot. Arthur's not gonna get hit with a star, stupid."

"We should make a wish. It is only right," Francis said gravely.

"I wish Gilbert wasn't a stoner," Matthew said quickly, but with sincerity. Francis stared at Matthew's sweet, upturned face for a long few moments before making his wish.

"I wish Matthew would forget about the stupid stoner," he said. Alfred bit his lip, and stared wide-eyed at all the stars burning so very, very far away.

"I wish…that Arthur would be okay again. I wish I'd been there to keep him safe. I wish…he'd forgive me for being such a crappy hero."

There was a long, long silence and then Matthew sighed.

"Wishing on stars…it's…"

"Stupid?" Francis offered, with a drunken smile. Matthew grinned, and gave Alfred's hand a hard squeeze. Nobody said anything about the blue-eyed boy's tears.

"Yeah. Stupid."

**A/N: **Yikes! So shit has really hit the fan. Thank god for Ivan and Yao. Whoever would have predicted those two being the stable and sane ones? Sorry chapters have been short lately. They'll get longer again soon, promise!

Oh, and a note for some of the readers on the last chapter that were upset. I really am sorry. I'm going to go put a warning in right now. I feel really guilty now about it, so I'm really, really sorry!


	20. Time to Think

Chapter 20

Arthur opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the pain in his face and in his head. For a breathless moment of terror he wondered if he'd been attacked again, and then everything came rushing back.

Two weeks since the attack. Numbness. Anxiety. Hearing rumors and gossip about what had happened to him no matter where he went, and Alfred trying so hard to be anything he needed but all he _really_ needed was space and for the attack to have never happened in the first place.

Then yesterday…Alfred getting into _another_ stupid fight with Francis, and then all of them getting hauled into _jail_, and then actually getting booked because Alfred was an _idiot_, and then having a meltdown and then drinking with everyone and feeling good for the first time in two weeks…until Alfred had gone and ruined it by talking about their problems in front of _everyone._ He loved the git but he truly couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his damn life.

It had been quite possibly the worst two bloody weeks of his entire life.

The door opened softly and Yao poked his head in. Arthur sat up a little bit, desperate for some water and some pain pills. Yao appeared to have both.

"Bless you," Arthur said as Yao smiled over the tray of warm tea and a glass of ice water. Arthur chugged the water and then took a soothing sip of the tea, swishing down the pills as he did so.

"Better?" Yao asked after Arthur had rehydrated and then bolted into the bathroom to vomit. When he was back in bed, Yao sat beside him delicately and brushed Arthur's bangs off his sweaty forehead. It was oddly maternal, and Arthur was surprised to find himself comforted by it. Yao's hands were soft and cool, and he let his eyes drift shut trustingly.

"It was hard for me, you know. After the shooting. Ivan was a stupid idiot. He was always there, always too loud, or too quiet, and I just wanted to be alone. At the same time, I was terrified and I wanted to feel safe again."

Arthur soaked Yao's words up like a sponge, and peeked his good eye open to see Yao's expression. He looked serene and thoughtful, and upon seeing Arthur's look, he flashed a gentle smile.

"It _will_ get better with time. Talk to a professional. Tell Alfred you need some space."

"I want to…but I don't want to be alone. I'm…I'm terrified. And I _hate_ that!"

"Arthur…you know you need to go home. I talked to your mother earlier and she told me your parents are begging you to come home. It is the best thing for you right now."

"I don't know how Alfred will take it," Arthur said worriedly, biting his lip. Yao gave a delicate shrug.

"If he loves you, he will wait. The media here will be crazy. It has already leaked to the press you were in jail yesterday, and your mother kept calling your phone. I finally answered her earlier and we talked about what happened. I told her once you woke up, Francis and I would take you to the airport."

"I can't just leave like that. He'll think he's won if I do that. I'm _not _a coward and I won't be—"

"Arthur, be quiet. You are irrational right now. You need to go home. I have already talked to Francis about it and he is going to fly back with you. That is mostly why he came back. He is worried about you…we all are."

"Where's Alfred?"

"Ivan took him back home last night. He would try to stop you from leaving, or try to go with you. You need to do this for _you_. Everything with Alfred will sort itself out later."

"I should talk to him, though. I can't just _go_ and—"

"Arthur, you are not understanding. The news broke last night. Alfred is locked up in the White House. Unless you want to go spend the next few weeks in hiding with him there, then you need to get on the plane while it is still early."

"What time is it?" Arthur asked, only then realizing it was still dark beyond the windows.

"Almost six. We can take Zakhar's car to the airport whenever you are ready. You might want to shower first."

Feeling like he really didn't have much choice, and simply too _tired_ to care much anymore, Arthur obediently did what he was told. He showered and dressed in one of Yao's old T-shirts and a big coat from Ivan. The collar on it was fluffy enough to practically hide his face. When he got downstairs, Francis was sitting on the arm of the couch, watching Matthew sleep below him.

"He is ready," Yao said. Francis offered him a weak smile.

"Let's go, Arthur. Your mother is worried sick and your brothers keep calling me every half hour."

"You really intend to fly me home and then hop on a plane right back? That's ridiculous Francis. Just get me to the airport. I'll be fine flying back alone," Arthur insisted. Francis and Yao exchanged worried looks.

"Arthur, it is really no trouble. I came back to make sure you were okay…"

"I refuse to let you go to the all that trouble. I appreciate the gesture, Francis, and I can't thank you enough for taking care of me last night, Yao, but you're both right. I want to go home. I'll be fine on the airplane and my brothers will come pick me up as soon as I get off in London."

"So be it, but let us go. It is only a matter of time before the paparazzi show up here," Yao said. He fetched the keys and gave them to Francis. In the cold, October morning air, they bundled up in the simple black car and drove to the airport. Arthur sent only one text message to Alfred, just before he boarded the plane.

**I need some space. I love you, but don't try to call me or come after me. Please. Goodbye, Alfred.**

Sending the text made him cry, and made him hate himself for what he was doing to Alfred because of what had been done to him. Wordlessly, Francis held his hand as they walked to the terminal. He turned his phone off for the duration of the flight, and spent fourteen hours staring at the clouds slipping by and feeling absolutely miserable.

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up to the sight of his bedroom ceiling blurred above him. He felt like he was going to be sick, so he rolled to the side rather violently and grasped for the trashcan he knew was beside his desk. How he got to the White House was anybody's guess, but the trashcan was just where it was supposed to be and thankfully it caught most of the mess.<p>

Alfred felt like shit. He didn't really remember much of the previous night, as they'd started drinking almost as soon as they'd been released from jail and had continued drinking till nearly two in the morning, but he _did_ remember that his life had become spectacularly fucked up in just a short day.

As if to confirm this, his bedroom door opened just as he was wiping the sick off his mouth, and Alfred was confronted with the sight of his father. As a kid, Alfred had only been spanked a handful of times. Usually, it was only when he really messed up beyond all hope of salvaging the situation, or when he disappointed his father more than the appearance-obsessed man could bear.

Now, he had that same look on his face—the look that had told a six year old Alfred that he was about to get his butt beat.

"I'm s-sorry, Dad! I know it's really bad, but—"

"Shut up, Alfred."

Alfred had never been very good at that. He opened his mouth to stutter out another excuse, but that was when he noticed his father actually had his belt in the hand that had been behind his back, and Alfred's eyes went wide. He was too old to be _spanked_. The idea was ridiculous, preposterous!

And then his dad was on him and Alfred, even with all his youth and athleticism, stood _no_ chance. His dad flipped him over and popped him over the backside at least ten times. He poured all his remaining strength into the eleventh. It was embarrassing. It was painful. It made Alfred feel about six inches tall.

"I don't give a fucking damn that you're sixteen. _NO_ son of mine will pull the shit you pulled yesterday. That was _completely_ un-fucking-acceptable! You prance around like a goddamed fairy with that ugly British kid and I keep my mouth shut, but _jail_? Getting drunk out by some ditch and having a goddamed Russian mafia kid bring your sorry ass home? Un-fucking-acceptable!"

Tears stung Alfred's eyes as the belt popped down again, though his father had lost most of his strength by then and it really didn't hurt as badly as the first eleven had.

"You're grounded, and your mother won't get you out of it this time. No phone. No computer. No car. No leaving your damn room. No fucking limey boyfriend, none of your fag friends, no football, and no fucking clubs. No school even! Want to know why? Because you've been fucking _suspended_. I hope you're fucking proud of yourself. I sure as hell am _not_. You better not step a fucking toe out of this room because if I so much as see your face before at _least_ a week is up, I'll make that ass-whooping look like a kiss and a cuddle. You hear me?"

"Y-yes sir!" Alfred sniffled, as he tried to force away his tears by squeezing his eyes shut as hard as possible.

"Disgusting. Clean that shit off your face and take a damned shower. You smell like piss and puke."

Alfred winced as his bedroom door slammed shut, and he finally gave into the urge to sob like a little boy.

* * *

><p>Matthew entered his dorm room to find Alex still sleeping, and a rerun of some old slasher flick playing on the television. With a sigh, he turned off the TV and went straight to the shower. He stood under the spray for a long time, totally spaced out, refusing to think about anything.<p>

When he emerged from the shower, it was nearly an hour later. It readily became apparent that life was not ready to cut him a break.

"Seriously? Both of you?" Matthew asked, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Francis sat on his bed, sneering at Alex and his messy side of the room, while Gilbert stood nearby clearly mid-debate with a very disinterested Francis.

"Mattie!" Gilbert said, breaking into a huge grin.

"Don't 'Mattie!' me. You _do_ realize what yesterday was, right?"

"Uh…Saturday?" Gilbert asked hopefully. Matthew gave him a flat look.

"It was our one month anniversary. I came to surprise you, but you were too out of it to get up and eat the breakfast I made you. So I went walking…alone…on our anniversary…and ended up in jail. I called you, as my one phone call, and guess who was _still_ stoned and didn't pick up? So _Ivan_, of all people, had to bail me out of jail. Then, because I don't think I've ever had a more depressing anniversary, I got hammered with an ex…who kissed me yesterday, by the way. I'm not even going to lie to you and say I didn't enjoy it, either. _Somebody_ should kiss me on my anniversary, for maple's sake!"

"I _knew_ you were hitting on him!" Gilbert said triumphantly, and pointed an accusing finger at Francis. The French boy rolled his eyes, and Alex looked at Matthew in shock.

"Damn, _socio_, you went to prison without me?" Alex joked weakly.

"Gilbert, all the weed has killed what little sense you had left. How could you treat Matthew that way on your anniversary? The day of your _love_?"

"Shut up! You cheated on him and all kinds of shit like that!"

"Both of you, just go! I don't like _either_ of you right now!"

"Mattie…teddy bear…are you, like, dumping me?" Gilbert asked, his brown eyes more red than usual. Mattie glared at him.

"I don't believe it. You're _still_ high. You've been baked the whole weekend, Gilbert! Enough already!"

"He wants you to leave, stoner," Francis jeered.

"After you, asshole!" Gilbert replied. Despite trading insults, the two didn't actually seem all that mad at each other. They left disappointed, but not overly angry. Matthew slammed the door behind them anyway. _He_ was certainly pissed.

"Your parents called, _socio_. You're kinda…on the news."

Matthew let his head bang dully against the wood of the door. It was going to take some serious amounts of maple syrup to turn such a shitty morning around.

* * *

><p>Yao pretended the spoon was a helicopter and finally convinced Raivis to open his mouth and eat some of the applesauce. Ivan came into the kitchen from the trip he'd made to World Academy to drop off Matthew and groaned as he dragged a hand over his face. He started muttering to himself in low, grumbling Russian. All Yao heard was the phrases "lightweights," "pussies," and "faggots" repeated more than was appropriate for the young ears that were present.<p>

"Ivan," Yao warned in a pleasant tone. The Russian boy cast a falsely cheery smile at him and then dropped his breakfast plate onto the table with a clatter. He kissed Natalya on the head, all with that same, fake cheerful smile, and then kissed Raivis's forehead and Yao's cheek.

"Better, da?" he asked sweetly. Yao rolled his eyes and spoke in babying Chinese to Raivis.

"Daddy is an idiot, yes he is. A big stupid western pig with a dirty mouth. We will wash his mouth out with Chinese soap, won't we? Yes we will," Yao cooed. Raivis, having next to no understanding of Chinese, clapped his chubby hands in delight. Ivan, who now was very fluent in Chinese insults, merely huffed in amusement and stuffed his mouth with the fried bread and the mushroom congee Yao had prepared for breakfast.

"Ivan? You have weird friends," Natalya said matter-of-factly.

"I don't have any friends. I have underlings." Ivan replied, with his same false cheer. Natalya rolled her eyes as if to say "my brother is _so_ weird."

"Whatever you say, big brother."

"Did you get Matthew back alright?" Yao asked, convincing Raivis to eat one last bite. Ivan chewed noisily and swallowed loudly. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and Yao winced in displeasure.

"No. I took him to a bridge and left him there with all the other drunk _petookh opooscheny_."

"Natalya, clean your dishes and go to your room," Yao said sweetly. The young girl rolled her eyes again but did as she was told.

As she left, she grumbled, "I'm not a baby. I know what a gay prison prostitute is."

"Ivan, what is bothering you?" Yao said simply once Natalya had left. Ivan stayed stubbornly silent, scowling at his meal more than eating it. Yao crossed the kitchen and stood at Ivan's side until the hulking teen scooted his chair back in defeat and patted his leg. Yao sat in Ivan's lap with practiced ease and stared deeply into Ivan's pale eyes. For a moment, Ivan let Yao see the disappointment and the frustration. Yao leaned forward, so that their foreheads rested against each other's for a moment. Then Yao sweetly kissed Ivan's lips.

"You could not help what happened with the rapist. It was not your fault he got away. If you had not gone back to the school, Arthur would likely be dead," Yao said. Ivan sighed and kissed Yao deeply, tasting his boyfriend's tongue and holding him tightly against his chest. When Ivan pulled away, he gave Yao's lips a brief little peck and then stood. Yao slid gracefully to the floor.

"You are right, but I am still upset. Arthur is your little bitch friend. I should have protected him better."

"I really will get the soap," Yao threatened. Ivan smirked and kissed Yao once more.

"You just try, _cuchka derganaya_," Ivan said with his homicidal grin, laughing even as Yao grabbed a nearby frying pan and all but chased him out of the kitchen with it. Raivis giggled and shouted, "Pan! Pan!"

All in all, drunken misadventures aside, it was just another typical morning in the Braginski-Wang household.

* * *

><p>Alfred was completely freaked out the first day of his grounding. He worried obsessively about Arthur, about Matthew, about anything and everything really. He thought about trying to escape, and then remembered his father's warning and decided to stay put. He counted all the Superman logos on his bed sheets, wrote Arthur a letter, tore up said letter because it was sappy and the grammar was terrible, and then started doing pushups.<p>

That was day one. At least the morning of day two started with a plate of food shoved quickly into his room by one of the maids, though she refused to talk to him and locked the door firmly after she left the food. Alfred ate his rations glumly and wondered why he'd even bothered leaving jail. It seemed he'd just traded one for the other. He skipped the letter writing that morning and went straight into the work out. Situps. Pushups. Pullups on the bar over his bathroom door. A constant and steady stream of reps until his muscles screamed at him and his body was soaked in sweat.

When he collapsed into a hot bath after a freezing cold shower, Alfred started to do something that he hardly ever did—he thought about what he'd done, and how he'd handled the past two weeks.

Being a teenager was really freaking hard, he decided. He wondered if his life was so crazy because he was famous, or if all teenagers had such dramatic sophomore years. For God's sake, he was sixteen and he had a _mugshot_.

Even Alfred could admit that his life had gotten off-track somehow, and things had spun wildly out of his control. The problem, he realized, was that he didn't have any freaking clue how to _fix_ everything. Then, Arthur's words came back to him almost like the touch of a ghost. He couldn't fix other people's problems. Then they wouldn't learn anything.

Is that what was happening to him? Was he so worried about what was happening to everyone else that he was neglecting to fix his own problems and learn from them? First it had been all the fame, and the way he'd messed up things with Mattie, and then all the modeling stuff and the eating disorder (and Alfred could admit now that it had been, in fact, an eating disorder)…that was _enough_ for one boy, wasn't it? Taking care of Michelle and looking out for Matthew and trying to constantly be on guard against some shadowy horrible rapist, for god's sake, it was just too much! He was only _one_ teenager. He wasn't some sort of real life superhero, he was just Alfred. Nerdy, loser Alfred who sucked at making friends and never should have left the world of Dungeons and Dragons.

That was what it boiled down to. He just sucked at being famous and glamorous and popular. It wasn't his life, it wasn't who he was meant to be, and it wasn't a role he could play anymore. He was the kid who fantasized about being a hero—not the kid who actually became one. As Alfred sunk under the water, he playfully blew bubbles and watched them pop up around his nose. When had everything gotten so serious and grown up? He was sixteen, not fucking forty. He was just _over_ it. All of it.

Whenever he got his freedom back, he was going to reactivate his World of Warcraft account and put all his old computer games back on his desktop at school. He was going to draw shitty comics again, and go back to studying deck strategies for Yu-Gi-Oh cards instead of algebra. He was sick of being popular Alfred with the sexy boyfriend and all the fame and six million followers on twitter.

He was going to get his old life back, because at least then he'd been happy, and the world had been simple. Alfred knew how to live that life, but he didn't know how to live his current one.

Alfred's eyes lit up in delight and he hastily drained the water out of the bathtub. He toweled off quickly and rushed into his bedroom, lifting up the mattress to find…yes! It was still there. His faithful Gameboy was right where he'd left it nearly two years ago, hidden from the last of his mother and father's nerd purges. After some new batteries, the electronic device beeped to life and Alfred let out a sigh of pure relief and relaxation. Putting everything—absolutely everything—out of his mind, he escaped into the world of Pokemon.

* * *

><p>Arthur spent a lot of the first week crying. There'd been no word from Alfred, but Arthur had heard through Matthew that Alfred was being held like some kind of prisoner in his own home as punishment for the trouble he'd gotten into. Arthur wanted to worry about him, but he just couldn't manage to care about anything really. He knew he was depressed. His mother finally cracked and called for a therapist, and the woman had been coming dutifully every afternoon. For two days, Arthur had just sipped his tea and pretended like she wasn't there. On day three, he'd listened as she talked soothingly about which of Shakespeare's plays was her favorite. On day four, over his mother's rather excellent scones, Arthur had cracked and told her everything. Afterwards, he felt completely drained. No matter how empty and numb he felt after each session, somehow the next day he managed to summon up all the emotional upset again and trudge through it all again no matter how much pain it caused. Half the time he just repeated rants about how angry he was that he'd been violated, and how infuriating it was that he'd been scared off from school, and how maddening it was that he couldn't decide whether his boyfriend's touch comforted him or made him want to throw up.<p>

Mostly, she just listened. Around day six, she started offering him ideas on how to cope. They tried a few things together and Arthur decided he wanted to move past it. He didn't want to spend the rest of his teenage years broken and angry. He started really listening during the sessions, and now it had been almost two weeks at home, secluded from all his old friends and the school, and Arthur almost felt better. His parents knew just how to handle him—never too loud or pushy, but always right there when he needed them. Colin came and had a long talk with him as they went riding together. The fresh air and the gentle message of love and support from Colin had done Arthur good. Patrick showed up, too, and sneaked in alcohol. They got drunk together playing cards and listening to Irish punk bands turned up way too loud far too late into the night.

And Arthur thought about things. He thought about what his life had become with Alfred, and he thought about the man he wanted to be when the year was over, and he thought about life beyond school. He thought about what had happened to him. He thought about what _hadn't_ happened to him—namely, he was still alive. He'd survived against all odds. He took his piercing out and he threw the stud away. He decided he needed a change, even if it was just in his style, and he vowed that when…if…he returned to World Academy he'd throw away all the punk clothes he'd taken to wearing. His therapist told him rape victims often felt the need for change, and that it was okay. As long as he didn't want to hurt himself. So Arthur filled his new wardrobe with sweater vests and crisply ironed khakis and he decided he was going to renew his focus on his studies. Books had been his salvation, his one steadfast friend in the past, and he could rely on them now. He read all hours of the day, all subjects and authors, all his old books and then bags full of new ones. He read anything that caught his eye in the impressive family library, and even a few things that had never interested him before.

He was startled to realize one morning that he'd lived without his cell phone since that call from Matthew about what was happening to Alfred. He hadn't logged onto a computer or turned on the television. He'd done nothing for three weeks except talk to his therapist, read book after book, and spend a small amount of time with his family. It was nearly the start of November when Patrick came to visit again. This time, he didn't bring alcohol.

They sat on Arthur's bed, and Patrick frowned slightly at Arthur's immaculately neat clothes—they almost looked strange on such a young man.

"Arthur…mum is never going to say this, but someone has to."

"What?" Arthur asked, idly flipping a page in his latest novel. Patrick sighed loudly enough that Arthur glanced up at him.

"You've been hiding at home for almost a month. We all knew you needed a safe place to recover for a bit, but you can't stay here forever. You need to get back out there, Art. Mum called the headmaster at the WA branch in London. They've made arrangements for you to continue your sophomore year there. You could stay in England all four years. New friends, new faces…what do you think, Art?"

Arthur flipped another page and stared through the book rather than at it.

"I have to go back. To Washington."

"Arthur…this is what mum was afraid of. We still don't think it's safe. This isn't a pride thing. We all know you're a fighter, kid, but there's a psycho there who's already hurt you. I'm not saying you should go back there. I'm not saying that at all. Is this about Alfred? Because I know you love him, or you think you do, but you're sixteen. The chances that you and Alfred will actually end up together are—"

"Patrick. Stop. Just stop. I know you only want to protect me, and I know you all think you know what's in my heart…but you don't. Right now, I don't even entirely know my own mind. I know I have to make a decision soon, and I shall. But not right now. Maybe tomorrow."

Patrick frowned and studied his kid brother seriously for a moment before he admitted defeat. Arthur would find his own way, but he wasn't going to let anyone pressure him into something he didn't want to do. After what he'd been though, none of them really had the heart to force him to do anything. It would have to be Arthur's move. If need be, his family would shelter and support him forever. If Arthur wanted to launch back out into the world, nobody was going to push him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I really like this chapter. For starters, it felt like this story was moving SO slowly, so I'm happy that I found a good place to do a little time skipping. I also wanted to show how everyone is kind of wrapped up in their own little worlds, and I wanted to step back a little and put things in perspective for each character.

When (if?) Arthur returns to WA in Washington, a month will have passed with essentially very little communication between the original six characters of the story. Who will Matthew have chosen? What will Alfred be like? What will the two lovers who have, for all intents and purposes simply stopped talking for an entire month, have to say to each other? Are they even still together? And let's not forget, Arthur's attacker is still waiting in the wings…

Next time! Love you guys!


	21. The Start of Winter

**Chapter 21**

Social suicide. Those were the only words for what had happened to Alfred Jones after his boyfriend left school, according to the Fag Hags. Every school has kids that nobody really notices, or kids who are "different." Tony Allen was a "different" kid.

Tony was quiet, for the most part. Teachers didn't really notice him, and that was just fine by Tony. He wanted to be an astronomer some day, and he only attended World Academy because his father was a very noted and celebrated scientist. Truthfully, Tony was less than impressed with the science department at World Academy, and so he spent most of his time pursuing his own interests and hobbies. The phrase "science geek" didn't really begin to cover it for Tony. He had every Star Wars movie memorized forwards, backwards, and sideways. He practically spoke Klingon, and Tony's idea of fun was to re-read a few chapters from his well-worn copy of _A Brief History of the Universe_. He'd never attended a school dance, sporting event, or fundraiser activity. He didn't belong to any clubs, and since he was simply not challenged enough in his science classes, his grades were less than impressive.

For the most part, Tony flew under everyone's radar…with one small exception. The school had not been able to successfully pair him with a roommate since his arrival. Student after student absolutely insisted to be given a new rooming assignment, until finally Tony had been put on the list of students who were given their own room due to "unmatchable" personalities. The reason for this difficulty in matching Tony could be found in his medical file. Tony was a child with Aspergers syndrome.

Tony had no problem being labeled unmatchable. It just meant he had more space for his models and his action figures. Tony even took it one step further and decided Freshman year that his solitude and his poor ability to make friends was actually training. If he had things his way, one day he'd be all alone up in space with nothing but silence and his research to occupy him. He didn't need friends. At least, that's what he told himself. He didn't really understand what the big hype was about friends anyway.

When Alfred finally escaped from his week of grounding and was allowed to return to school, he was heartbroken to read Arthur's text message. Things seemed to conspire against him even further when he learned that Arthur had temporarily withdrawn from school, and Alfred's parents had requested that he no longer room with Arthur. Even if they hadn't asked for new arrangements, they would have gotten them anyway. Due to the security situation, Arthur was now going to room by himself if he returned, in the room closest to the hall monitor's station, so that there would always be someone staffing the desk and monitoring who came in and out of his door.

So Alfred was given a new roommate…the unmatchable Tony Allen—or Tony the Alien to everyone who cared enough to be mean at World Academy.

Alfred stared at his new bedroom door with a dazed, broken-hearted look. Memories of the first time he met Arthur assaulted him and wouldn't let him be. Irritated with himself, Alfred shook his head to banish the memories and knocked quietly.

A few seconds later, the door opened the tiniest of cracks. Alfred blinked a bit in surprise. He knew _of_ the kid he was seeing, but he'd never actually talked to him. He knew the kid was smart—in all advanced classes—so their paths had never crossed before.

"There's a password," Tony said in a flat tone. Alfred blinked, and didn't understand. Tony's eyes narrowed. "The password is Roswell. Don't forget it."

Then the door was released and Alfred got his first look at his new room…or what was left of it.

"Woah!" Alfred said in awe, so surprised that he was momentarily snapped out of his depression. Keeping his reserved expression, Tony retreated into the room and stared almost unblinkingly at Alfred's chin. Tony didn't like looking anyone in the eye, and thankfully, his almost stunted height made it so that people never really expected him to do so anyway.

Alfred spun in a tight circle once he was fully in the room, taking in the massive paper mural that covered the entire ceiling—an incredibly detailed and well drawn map of the cosmos. The walls seemed to sag under the weight of Star Wars and Star Trek posters, as well as shelves crammed with highly detailed models and action figures.

"This is…this is…awesome!" Alfred enthused with an ear to ear grin. It was the first smile he'd shown in nearly three weeks.

For a long moment, Tony's expression remained completely blank. Then, ever so slowly, a tiny smile graced his face.

* * *

><p>"It's just <em>weird<em>. I mean, he was like totally popular. What's he doing hanging out so much with the special ed. kid?" Ashley gossiped to another coldly beautiful girl as Alfred and Tony walked by their lunch table.

"I think they're roommates now. Doesn't mean he has to spend time with him though. I mean, like, what if he's contagious?" Ashley's minion said in a pitying voice. Ashley, who was actually more intelligent than she let on, rolled her eyes.

"He's retarded. It's not like the flu, genius. Whatevs. Now that Francis Bonnefoy is back from Paris, we can go shopping with him instead. Alfred didn't even really know how to be gay anyway. I mean…look at what he's wearing. Is that a Pokemon T-shirt? I mean…gross. Just gross."

Alfred didn't hear the entire conversation, but he heard enough of it to be hurt and surprised by Ashley's cold words. Sure, he was taking a break from sports and he and Arthur weren't the "it" gay couple on campus anymore, but Ashley had been his princess for the Homecoming dance not even a month before. She'd claimed to be one of his best girl friends then.

"Fucking stupid cuntlicker! You're worse than an ice bitch. You're like an ice wampa of Hoth! Stupid earthlings," Tony mumbled, just loud enough for Alfred to hear. The ex-football star laughed a bit nervously and scratched the back of his neck—the motion he always seemed to do when he was unsure of how to handle a situation. Did he stand up for Ashley, or did he let Tony's foul (but true) language slide?

At first, Alfred hadn't known what to make of Tony. He knew he instantly liked him, despite his odd and sometimes off-putting behavior. Tony was just Tony. He didn't try to change who he was, and he never even seemed to worry about it. Alfred really liked that about Tony, in the same way he'd once admired the same quality in Arthur. After a few days of Alfred not demanding a room change, and actually managing to impress Tony with his knowledge of Star Wars and his willingness to listen to long winded explanations about where each toy in Tony's collection came from, Tony had deemed Alfred worthy enough to offer an explanation when Alfred admitted he didn't know what Aspergers even was.

"It means I'm smarter than almost everyone in this school. I have emotions, but not like yours. I just see the world differently. Albert Einstein had Aspergers. Lots of great scientists do. You're pretty dumb compared to me, but at least you have good taste. I'll let you be my friend. But can we get back to our discussion about the motion-controlled cameras? They were invented by the FX team for Star Wars. Did you know? Of course you didn't. Now you do, though. Moving on," Tony had a funny habit of speaking to Alfred as if he were giving college lectures, which Alfred strangely enjoyed. Tony was fun to listen to, even if he cussed too much and too loudly, and freaked people out with his lack of social skills.

The best thing about Tony, though, was that everyone seemed to avoid Alfred when he was in the company of Tony. Even Matthew shied away from the two of them. Matthew had tried to join them a few times and make polite conversation with Tony, but Tony didn't _do_ polite chit chat. He started talking loudly and profanely about Princess Leia's anatomy until Matthew choked out an excuse and fled their lunch table with reddened cheeks.

Before, Alfred would have worried about what everyone thought of him. Now, he hid behind Tony's abrasive personality and let himself be further drawn into a world of science fiction and fantasy escapism. It was the newest juicy piece of gossip once the interest in his jail escape had worn off. Then people just lumped him with Tony as a "weird kid" again, and Alfred resumed enjoying a peace he'd lost as a star football player.

He no longer was expected to go hang out in popular guy's dorm rooms, debating with them about football teams and listening to them salivate over cheerleaders. He didn't have to practice every night, or spend all Saturday on games, and as Alfred's six pack began to fade, he remembered just how much absolute joy could be found in eating a loaded cheeseburger without any feelings of guilt or remorse. He watched all the Star Wars movies approximately thirty-six times. His grades began to dramatically improve in chemistry, and Alfred gave Arthur space. He didn't text, or call, or write letters.

What hurt most of all was that Arthur's "space" lasted for nearly all of October. A month was a long time in the world of high school. When word began to spread that Arthur was coming back, Alfred felt like his entire life was different. Things were simple again. He was happier again.

And what did that mean? That he'd been able to be happy without Arthur?

Alfred didn't quite know. He didn't really know anything anymore. Except a shitload of Star Wars trivia, thanks to his new roommate Tony.

* * *

><p>Matthew smiled as he entered the courtyard and saw Francis and Gilbert sneaking a cigarette. A third boy had joined the two unlikely friends—a Spanish kid named Antonio who was a junior. As the three of them passed the cigarette around, Antonio gestured wildly as he told what was (no doubt) a raunchy joke. Gilbert and Antonio kind of made sense as friends, considering they were both into music and supposedly were trying to get a band together. Matthew could only assume Francis hung around them because it was an easy way to pick up bed partners. Girls (and guys) flocked to the musicians and to Gilbert because of his illegal connections. The three teens were laughing loudly at Antonio's joke now, until Francis finally noticed him approaching.<p>

"Matthew! You have to hear this joke!" Francis said with a devilish grin. Matthew smiled but shook his head.

"I know the kind of jokes you three tell. I think I'm good not knowing," Matthew said. Francis merely winked and offered a broad, sincere smile. Though Matthew would have never have predicted it a month before, when the two of them had actually been arrested for their fighting and heated make-out session in the school courtyard, he and Francis were actually doing very well now…as friends.

"Hey beautiful. Sorry, but if you want to come over here, your shirt has to go. You can stay, though," Gilbert purred as he puffed out a perfect smoke ring. Matthew waved at the smoke drifting towards him in distaste. He rolled his eyes again.

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"Seriously, though, teddy bear, why are you still holding out on me? Let's just go back to my dorm and do the things that I tell people we do anyway," Gilbert suggested.

"It's over, stoner. When will you just accept that you were just sloppy seconds to my main course?" Francis asked, pretending to muse over the question as if it were a huge mystery. Antonio took the cigarette.

"You're both lucky he puts up with you two idiots at all anymore," Antonio said lightly.

"I have no idea why I do," Matthew said with a shy grin. Gilbert stuck out his tongue at him and Francis casually dropped an arm around his shoulders. When he smiled at Matthew, it was genuine and carefree.

"Because deep down…very, very deep down…you know you love us."

"I don't know about that…if it _is_ there, it's buried under a lot of bitter regret that I ever dated either of you."

"Oooohhh!" Antonio mocked, offering Matthew a high-five. "You both just got burned!"

"What? There's a fire? You look like a fireman, baby, so why don't you slide down my pole?" Gilbert asked with a lascivious wink aimed at Matthew. Francis cracked up (and he was really, truly laughing because whenever he was _really_ laughing he did that stereotypical _hon hon hon_ kind of French laugh that Alfred had always teased him for).

"I just came over here to tell you about my game this Saturday. You guys wanna come? We can go get food afterwards or something," Matthew suggested. He still felt a little shy initiating things with his friends, but seeing as Alfred tended to keep to himself lately, Matthew found himself stepping out of his shadow.

"Sounds like a plan. We'll come cheer for you," Francis said with a soft smile. Matthew returned it, and even blushed a little. Francis was such a charmer.

"Watching you get all rough with your stick? Count me in, babe," Gilbert added. Matthew's blush deepened. Francis was a charmer, and Gilbert was a total pervert. But he did truly love them both.

He just didn't love them in that way anymore. For awhile…for longer than Matthew even realized, perhaps…his heart set its sights on someone else. Francis claimed he'd seen it coming all along, but Matthew wasn't so sure. Matthew hadn't even figured it out until shortly after Francis had returned and he realized that even though he cared about Francis deeply, that spark that had been there before wasn't there anymore, and it wasn't there when he slept with Gilbert, either.

"I assume your secret love will be coming, too, non?" Francis asked casually. There was only a brief flash of jealousy in his blue eyes, but he was showing that jealousy less and less frequently since Matthew had confessed in secret to both Francis and Gilbert who he really wanted.

"Yeah, he's been spending a lot of time with his new…_friend_…but he'll be there. He is my best friend after all, even after all the crazy things we've gone through this year."

Francis just shrugged, as if he'd given up on Matthew's poor choice in men and resigned himself to the idea of seeing Matthew with someone he viewed as inferior to himself. Gilbert just crushed the last bit of the cigarette and fell into a discussion about an upcoming concert with Antonio. At times, it stung Matthew's pride a bit that Gilbert had accepted the end of their relationship with such a easy-come, easy-go attitude…but he supposed that was a lingering aftereffect of all the pot the boy had puffed over the years. Not much ever seemed to phase Gilbert.

"I've gotta get going, but did you guys hear? Arthur is coming back. He texted Yao yesterday."

Francis gave Matthew a surprised look. "I didn't know. Arthur hasn't talked to me at all for the past month. Has he…contacted Alfred?"

Matthew's face stayed almost perfectly neutral. "Alfred says he hasn't. He says…they're broken up, or so he figures."

"This might be a stupid question…but is Alfred interested in that…er…Tony kid?" Francis asked carefully. Matthew was quick to shake his head.

"Oh god no. At least…I _hope_ not!" Matthew said. Then, horror-struck, "What if Alfred is interested in _Tony_?"

"That kid's a weird fucker. He probably wants to play astronaut and explore Alfred's Uranus."

"Ugh! Gilbert! Gross!" Matthew retorted hotly. Gilbert just laughed.

"Yeah yeah, no teasing poor, heartbroken Alfred. I know. You better get going or you'll be late, teddy bear."

"You're right. I'll catch you guys later! Bye!"

The three watched him leave and laughed when Gilbert made the totally predictable joke about Matthew's ass in parting.

* * *

><p>Arthur stepped out of the cab and blinked behind his dark sunglasses. The campus was just as he remembered, though even colder feeling. He felt sick, honestly, to be back in the place where he'd been so hurt. His therapist had warned him it would be difficult to return. The nightmares might come back, or seeing Alfred might upset him. It had been <em>his<em> choice to return, though, and to face his fears for however long he was able. Honestly, Arthur didn't know what he hoped to gain by returning.

Maybe he just hoped that the cold, numb feeling in his chest would finally melt harmlessly away. Maybe he hoped the rapist would come again, and this time, Arthur would be ready. This time, he'd kill the attacker with his bare hands.

Arthur tightened his grip around his rolling suitcase and set off at a brisk, no-nonsense pace towards the dormitory. He kept expecting to run into someone he knew, but aside from a few double takes, he saw nobody that he even recognized. The whole campus felt like it was full of strangers. Arthur kept searching for a flash of laughing blue eyes, or a glimpse of tall, tan, and blond, but Alfred was nowhere to be seen. As Arthur reached the dorms and then their old room…where _it_ had happened…he thought about knocking. Wouldn't that be better? To face him directly after all they'd been through and give him some closure? Didn't he at least owe him that?

Arthur grit his teeth and kept walking, realizing after the long trip that he was not yet ready to fight a battle so soon. He reached the security desk and informed him of his arrival. He already knew he'd have private rooming arrangements, but he didn't expect them to be so close, in what he'd always assumed was a storage closet by the front desk. Arthur did feel a little better though, knowing that there was always someone posted on guard at the security station to monitor the comings and goings of the students. Usually, it was a young security officer with sandy brown hair and a kind smile. He'd always been polite to Arthur, and very lenient towards students sneaking about after hours, as if he understood all too well what it was like to be a teen not so long ago.

"Welcome back, Prince Arthur. This is actually going to be your new room. I'll be keeping watch at all times, so you can rest easy. It's an interior room, too, so no windows," the security guard said, as if he understood. Arthur nodded tightly.

"Thank you," he said. Then, with a slight blush he added, "I've never caught your name."

"It's Mike. See?" The security guard held up a shiny badge that proclaimed him to be security staff and a World Academy employee. Arthur appreciated the gesture due to his newfound paranoia and offered a weak smile as Mike rummaged around for his new room key. Arthur had never been so eager to be locked away from the challenges he was about to face in his life. He all but snatched the key from Mike and (with another hasty "thanks!") closed and locked the door behind him. His room was pitch black until he turned on the light switch. A simple bed, some mismatched furniture, and what appeared to be a broken rolling chair greeted him. His initial guess had not been far off the mark—this room probably had been used for storage. It must have been intended as a room for the security guard at one point, though, because it did have a small bathroom attached. There was no luxurious tub, as in the other rooms—only an efficient shower.

With a small sigh of longing for the nicer rooms he'd had before, Arthur set about unpacking…and waiting. Surely, word would reach Alfred instantly that he was back on campus. Sure, Alfred was still in his last class of the day, but plenty of students had been off and milling around to see him arrive. Alfred would come directly after the bell, wouldn't he?

Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Two hours.

Arthur had tidied and unpacked and done everything he could to occupy himself. He didn't want to hop in the shower, though he desperately wanted one, because he knew as soon as he did that Alfred would knock on the door. So he waited around another thirty minutes before he decided he'd ignore any visitors until after a hot shower.

Alfred didn't knock, however, and Arthur got dressed leisurely in his night clothes and settled onto the less than comfortable bed with his latest book. He fell asleep with the book draped over his chest, forgetting to set his alarm, convinced Alfred would be knocking at any moment…

He had a horrible dream, but he woke up unable to remember anything specifically. The complete darkness of his room was unsettling, and so Arthur made a mad dash to the bathroom where he turned on the light and left it on for the remainder of the morning. He lay in bed until nearly six, and then he began preparing for the day. When he left, Mike was just passing off his shift to a tall, muscular woman whom Arthur had seen often enough around campus escorting rowdier students to and from classes. Arthur nodded politely at them both before hitching his school bag up onto his shoulder and slipping out of the dorms earlier than everyone else. If Arthur was avoiding running into Alfred for as long as possible, he refused to admit it to himself.

He needn't have worried. Alfred did not show up to the early breakfast, which Arthur should have known would be the case. Instead, it was Francis who dropped into the seat across from him. Francis gave him a long, assessing look…and then said absolutely nothing. He began to neatly dissect his crepes and sip on his coffee.

"Good morning, Francis," Arthur finally said, very stiffly and with far too much formality. Francis glanced up at him over the school paper he'd been pretending to read.

"Welcome back. I admit…I am a little surprised to see you. Something happen to your phone?" Francis asked with not even a hint of accusation in his tone. Arthur winced all the same.

"No. It's still working properly. I've just had other things on my mind. I've never been one for over-reliance on technology, you know."

"Hmm…is that the excuse you will give to Alfred? That you merely grew tired of technology?" Now there was accusation. Arthur scowled, though it was only a small scowl.

"Since when do you care about Alfred?"

Francis was instantly casual again, turning the page of the paper and ignoring Arthur completely once more.

"Silly me. I don't."

Satisfied, Arthur dug into his heartier breakfast and made sure to eat every bit. He refused to start losing weight due to stress or fear or paranoia…though he felt all three like a constant intrusion on his mind. Was his attacker in the cafeteria even now? Watching him?

Arthur shook his head a bit to snap out of it and choked down the last bite of food he could manage. Without saying goodbye, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed to class.

He had first period with Matthew, who seemed nervous to approach him but finally worked up the nerve in the last five minutes of class. He stuttered out something about being glad he was okay and back at school, but Arthur only gave a generic polite response. It was as if he was looking _through_ Matthew instead of _at_ him. Matthew and Arthur had never been best friends anyway, except on the few occasions they'd teamed up because of Alfred, so Matthew wasn't willing to pry. He left Arthur alone with one final, worried glance.

In second period, Arthur knew nobody except Vash, who merely cast him a glare and then kept his distance. Third period was the same, except he got pitying looks instead of offended ones. Fourth period was science…the one class he shared with Alfred for the day.

Arthur was the first to arrive, and he abandoned his usual seat near the back to sit very close to Mr. Allowick's desk. Arthur knew a great number of students in this class, among them Yao, Michelle, Kiku, and even Heracles. Because he'd shared the class with Alfred, he'd somehow gotten to know everyone. Each student that entered looked at him with surprise. Some offered him greetings, but quickly decided not to push him.

Finally…_finally_…Alfred came in just a half minute before the bell rang. Alfred froze, and Arthur froze, and the whole bloody class seemed to freeze…and then Alfred continued on to his seat in the back, without so much as a single word. His head hung and Arthur saw that he'd let his bangs grow too long—they hid his eyes. Alfred had lost muscle mass, and his skin was paler. The dark smudges under his eyes suggested sleepless nights. He wore an old, nerdy T-shirt—some internet joke fading on its surface—with a pair of jeans that was neither tight or trendy.

It was almost like seeing Alfred from freshman year again, when he'd somehow managed to be both devastatingly handsome and horribly awkward in his own skin at the same time. Arthur swallowed thickly and kept a stiff upper lip. Firmly compressing all emotion, Arthur readied his notes and his pencil and waited for the lesson to begin.

He'd seen Alfred again and his world had not come crashing down. That was something, at least. Not much, but it was something.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **My only excuse for the lateness of this chapter is state testing, which is miserable for students and hellish for teachers. I'm technically staying up way too late to write this, but I figured this chapter was LONG overdue for those of you still interested in the story. Hope it was worth the wait, and I apologize for the long gap between updates! Oh, and I'm super happy to introduce Tony Allen (Allen...Alien...get it? :P) as Alfred's new roommate. Isn't he adorable? Luv for Tony!


	22. Setting it Straight

**Chapter 22**

Friday finished and Alfred all but sprinted out of science, before the final bell even rang. Mr. Allowick sighed heavily, glanced weightily at Arthur, and then clearly decided to let it go. The whispers broke out instantly. Arthur was trying not to pay them any mind as he put away his things, when suddenly a book bag dropped down heavily on the table beside him.

"You're a dick, you know that, right?" Michelle said by way of greeting. Arthur glanced at the aspiring model/artist warily. She was already in battle stance—hands on her hips and her eyebrows forked downwards in displeasure. Arthur knew that pose well enough from his mother. It was woman-speak for "trouble."

"Hullo, Michelle. I see you haven't overdosed yet. My sincerest congratulations," Arthur said in a mild, calm tone that belied the harshness of his words. Any other girl would have at least flinched, but Michelle was tougher than that. She sneered at him.

"You got hurt so you're hiding behind a wall of anger and lashing out at the people who love you most. Isn't that a little too…cliché…for a guy of your caliber, Arthur? It just seems so very _common_…your highness." Michelle finished this retort with a mocking little curtsey. She then sat down far too close and stared at him far too intensely. Arthur was the one who finally flinched.

"Just piss off, will you? Shouldn't you be draping yourself all over Alfred right about now? He's single now, or have your fancies already changed?"

"Yeah…see I'm trying to do this whole 'be the better person' thing. You're looking at the temporary president of the Hero Club."

Arthur had to bark out a laugh at that. "Excuse me?" he said. Michelle tossed her hair.

"Well, Alfred's working through some shit right now, and friends help each other out, right? So I'm filling in until Alfred feels like himself again. Oh, and you can dial back on the scorn, eyebrows. I _can_ help people."

"Like you helped Alfred develop an eating disorder?" Arthur said scathingly.

"Like I'm helping you pull your head out of your ass," she hissed back. The bell rang finally, and students eagerly rushed out. Mr. Allowick approached them, and it was obvious he'd been eavesdropping.

"We talked about this, Michelle. You can't use intimidation to help others. Alfred's club is about being a positive influence on campus—"

"Well _he's_ being a dick!" Michelle accused. Arthur rolled his eyes and stood with his bag.

"I don't have to listen to this. Stay away from me," Arthur spat angrily at the both of them. Mr. Allowick sighed and Michelle slapped her hand down hard on the desk. It made Arthur jump.

"You're not the only one who's been raped, okay? I _know_ how damned helpless it makes you feel…how everything seems to just be fucked up beyond repair! Maybe…maybe I'm not just trying to help you. Maybe I need you to help me, too, okay?"

Arthur felt like he was really _seeing_ someone for the first time since he'd left America. Michelle had that same cold, terrified, angry look he saw in the mirror all the time now. She didn't cry, she didn't beg, and she didn't break down. She just stared at him and let their shared experiences scream in the silence that filled the room.

Then, the look faded from her eyes. She took a deep, calming breath and picked up her school bag. She nodded briskly at Mr. Allowick and turned to leave. At the door, she hesitated just long enough to say, "The next Hero Club meeting will be here, Monday after school. 4:00. We're the only two members for now."

* * *

><p>Alex shivered as the icy air hit him. Matthew exited the building right behind him and seemed unbothered by the cold—refreshed by it, even.<p>

"Damn,_ socio_, why can't hockey be a summer sport?" he complained. Despite the cold, Alex had come to every Saturday game—even the early ones that started at 8:00 AM. Matthew smiled and walked perhaps a little closer than was normal for best friends, but if Alex noticed, he didn't say anything. Maybe he was grateful for the added warmth.

"It'll be baseball season before you know it. Cheer up!" Matthew said brightly, his cheeks turning rosy in the cold.

"Yeah, yeah…so, hey, is Alfred coming? Not that I want to share the stands with him again and watch him slurp down hotdogs. I _did_ let you know how that made me messed up in the head, right?"

"You mentioned it once or twenty times," Matthew replied with a grin.

"It was _disturbing_."

"Mm-hmm. You can say it, you know. You're worried about Alfred."

"I am _not_ worried about that brainless, shallow…well, I guess I can't call him a jock anymore, can I?"

"Not these days, no."

"…fine. I'm concerned. For your sake. Is he coming out of fantasy land today?" Alex finally caved. Matthew frowned a bit and shook his head, causing a few wayward curls to bounce around his face.

"I don't think so. I invited him but he doesn't want to go anywhere anymore. He just wants to stay holed up with that Tony kid," Matthew said.

"It's not healthy for him," Alex muttered. He was lightly blushing, and it melted Matthew's heart and made him feel all warm and fuzzy, despite the freezing air.

"It's really not. Alfred's kind of like a chameleon. He tends to take on the qualities of whoever he hangs out with. I guess the official term would be 'impressionable.' I guess he just hasn't really figured himself out yet."

"What's to figure out? It's not like he's especially deep. We _are_ still talking about Alfred Jones, right? Same guy who tweeted about football last summer that 'half the game was ninety percent mental'?"

Matthew winced and guiltily hid a smile. "Hey…why were you reading Alfred's tweets? Mr. I'm-too-cool-to-care-about-celebrities?"

"He was quoted in an article for dumb shit celebrities say. I _didn't_ follow his tweets."

"Alright, whatever you say," Matthew pacified just as Michelle managed to catch up to them. She still dressed suggestively, and she still was a little too crass for Matthew's taste, but somehow he'd become responsible for her.

Matthew wouldn't say he was her _friend_. Friend was a strong word. It was more like…he acknowledged how hard she was trying. Maybe it was all the kind things Francis and Alfred had said about his character, but for whatever reason, Michelle had become like Matthew's shadow. Quite frankly, it surprised Matthew. He expected her to hang out with Francis, Antonio and Gilbert, even after she and Francis had broken up. She didn't, though. Matthew knew Francis treated Michelle like a big brother now, and as such, he refused to let her drink with him and his buddies. So he'd asked Matthew to keep an eye on her, and he'd used whatever strange power he had over Michelle to convince her that she had something to learn from Matthew.

"Hey guys!" she greeted with a big smile.

"Hey Michelle," Matthew greeted. Alex just smiled warmly at her. "Aren't you a little cold?" Matthew asked, his eyes dropping to her bare legs. She was wearing one of those ridiculous mini-skirt with huge furry boots combos. She had goosebumps all over her tan legs.

"Not at all," she lied. Her teeth were chattering. With a sigh, Matthew stripped off his outer jacket and tied it around her waist securely after zipping it up in the front. It looked odd, but he could see Michelle visibly relax into the warmth of her make-shift skirt.

"Next time, wear something more practical. Ladies don't wear hooker skirts in public," Matthew said pointedly. To soften the blow, he added, "I know they're fashionable right now, but you're beautiful in anything you wear. You can pull off a warmer look just as well as a sexy one, with the added bonus of not catching pneumonia," Matthew said.

"Yeah…I'll wear leggings next time. Just didn't think about it," she said demurely, almost sounding like a scolded little girl. Alex smiled against the collar of his jacket and Matthew seemed appeased for the moment.

"Let's get going. I'm going to be late at this rate," Matthew complained. Behind him, Alex and Michelle exchanged secret smiles over his motherly fussing.

* * *

><p>The arena was pretty packed by the time the trio of friends arrived. Gilbert was armed with two hot dogs, while Antonio carried his own snacks and those of his fiery boyfriend. Romano had dated Antonio for almost a year now, but he hadn't softened at all. Francis could hardly stand the foul-mouthed firecracker, but Gilbert thought he was good for a laugh.<p>

"This is _not_ a fucking date. Dragging me to some gay-ass hockey game with your retarded friends is about as far from romantic as you can possibly fucking get. I don't know why I expected anything better from you, though. You have rotten tomatoes for brains. Don't eat my fucking nachos! Get your own!"

"_Mi amor, _don't you want to share?" Antonio asked innocently. Romano replied with a middle finger salute and then stomped his way down the bleachers, sitting as far from the group of hockey moms and tag-along little brothers and sisters as he possibly could. With a laugh, Antonio followed after him and Francis and Gilbert brought up the rear.

"Hey. Look," Gilbert said, all but punching Francis in the shoulder to draw his attention further down the stands. Francis scanned over the fans until his blue eyes landed on the pair.

"And your point? They are Matthew's closest friends these days, no? Why wouldn't they sit together?"

"They're sitting together _again_, like they've done _every_ Saturday. Their thighs are touching. She totally wants his dick," Gilbert assessed.

"Michelle is not interested in the Cuban." Francis studied them a moment more as they all got seated, his eyes narrowing for a moment. Then he shook his head dismissively. "No. She would have told me."

"You just want to think she listened to you and is playing nice with Matthew. I'm telling you, she's only hanging around Matthew so much because she wants to fuck his new crush."

"Contrary to common belief, Michelle has higher goals in life than systematically ruining Matthew's relationships…at least, I think she does."

"What are you two idiots talking about? The slut and the fat kid? Of course she wants to fuck him. God, why don't you have smarter friends, Antonio? HEY! Give me back my god-damned nachos!" Ramano barked like an angry little dog.

"They seem like a sweet couple to me. What's the big deal?" Antonio asked innocently.

"Surely Matthew found out if he was gay or not before he let his crush grow, _oui_? Alex pretended they were dating. Everyone thinks he's gay," Francis mused. He was far more interested in this budding new romance than he was in the hockey game playing out on the ice.

At least, he was distracted by Alex and Michelle until he saw Matthew standing in the middle of the rink almost dumbly. He was staring straight at Alex and Michelle, who were wrapped up in their own little world. Alex laughed at something Michelle said, his attention focused on her so completely that he didn't even notice Matthew staring. A huge, burly player from the opposite team plowed Matthew down in his moment of inattentiveness, and Francis was up out of his seat before he even knew what he was doing.

"Where are you going?" Gilbert asked, but Francis was already running down the stands. The game had been stopped and the two-man medical team was skating out onto the ice. Slipping and sliding a bit, and ignoring the referee shouting at him to go back to the stands, Francis went skidding out to where Matthew had crumpled under the larger boy.

"Get his helmet off. Son, can you hear me?" the med squad member asked, peering into Matthew's confused expression.

"Huh? Where am I?" Matthew asked shakily. Francis appeared on Matthew's other side, and gently took his hand through the thick glove.

"Matthew? Are you alright?"

"Francis? What…how…why is everything spinning?" Matthew asked.

"Okay, get him on the stretcher. Everybody stand back," the burly medic said before he and his partner worked in tandem to clear Matthew off the ice. Francis stayed with them, until they were back in the locker room and Matthew had recovered a bit. He had a large bruise on his temple, where he'd taken a wayward blow from the other player's hockey stick through the guards on his helmet. Francis held the ice pack to Matthew's head, still comfortingly holding the other boy's hand. The medics had determined he was okay, just a little roughed up. They'd left Francis to sit with him in the dressing room and keep the ice on his head.

"Right before…before I got hit…did I see what I thought I saw?" Matthew asked, sounding very vulnerable. He was perched atop a big, stainless steel table, with his socked feet hanging off the side. It made him look younger. Francis sighed.

"A cheater, a stoner, and a straight guy. I've figured out your problem, Matthew. You have _horrible_ taste in men," Francis joked weakly. Matthew's head dropped, however, and fat, salty tears spilled down over his cheeks.

"I thought it would be different with Alex. We're so close. I never even thought that he might really be into girls. How stupid can I be? Of _course_ he's straight. This whole month I thought I was helping Michelle…and she's just been hanging around to get to my best friend. I was giving her advice, helping her with her homework…I bet they had a good laugh at my expense!"

"Matthew…I don't think she did it _intentionally_," Francis said quietly. Matthew shot him a dark, glowering look made all the worst by tears and a blackening eye. "At the very least, they would never laugh at you. Alex thinks the world of you. Michelle admires you—I _know_ she does."

"Ugh, forget it! I'm just going to be alone forever! It's not worth it to keep getting my hopes up and then getting my heart stomped on over and over! If this is love then it sucks! I hate it!"

Francis couldn't help but smile. Matthew looked so completely pitiful and depressed that Francis reacted without thinking it through. He let the ice bag drop to the table that Matthew was sitting on top of and he moved forward, until he was standing between Matthew's knees. Smoothly, confidently, and with complete gentleness, he captured Matthew's lips in a sweet kiss.

Matthew didn't know how the kiss felt so soothing and wonderful when it should have made him furious, but it calmed him almost magically. The tension in his shoulders drained harmlessly away, and he wound his arms loosely around Francis's shoulders. When they parted, Francis whispered gently against his the curve of his ear.

"Don't ruin your friendship with Alex over a love he can't give you. Give me another chance. I've changed, Matthew. I promise I have."

Suddenly, Matthew's arms around his shoulders tightened almost desperately and Matthew was crying against his shoulder. Francis knew the tears were over Alex, but he also could tell Matthew had felt something when they kissed—something familiar and comforting, but different now somehow. Hopeful, perhaps very fragile, but it had definitely been something good between them once more.

"I'm not c-crying because of A-Alex. My h-head just really h-hurts!" Matthew sobbed. Smiling a bit, Francis let Matthew cry it out, gently carding his fingers through the other boy's sweaty curls and kissing over the part of his forehead that wasn't cut and bruised.

"There, there…everything will be okay now. You will see. Everything will work out alright in the end," Francis assured. And this time, he could almost believe that.

* * *

><p>Arthur kept waiting for Alfred to come, all Friday night and even Saturday morning before he finally realized that Alfred wasn't coming.<p>

It made no sense. It wasn't like his Alfred at all. _His_ Alfred was clingy, and needy, and sensitive and too sweet-hearted to ever let a conflict go unresolved between them. When he was in the dog house, he bought flowers, and he serenaded him, and he slow danced with him to sappy songs. Arthur shut Alfred out quite frequently—sometimes he just needed alone time—but Alfred never shut out _him_. It was downright un-Alfred.

The question was…did Arthur care? After realizing he'd been pacing for almost an hour, it was quite obvious that he cared. The question was, then, what to do about it.

Quite suddenly, his door swung open. Arthur nearly shrieked, but he choked down his scream of surprise at the last second. It was Mike—the hallway security guard—with the key still in his hand.

"Hey, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I heard you pacing in here. You're setting _me_ on edge! Is everything okay?" he asked. His expression as a whole seemed caring enough, but Arthur still felt violated by his unapproved entrance.

"My door was locked! You don't just _barge_ in when someone's—"

"Arthur, I knocked. Loudly. For at least a couple minutes. I thought you might have had headphones on or something. Look, I won't unlock your door again. I was just worried."

Arthur felt the air rush out of his lungs. Had he really been so wrapped up in his own head he hadn't heard Mike's knocking? Arthur shook his head tiredly and sunk onto the edge of the mattress.

"No, I'm sorry I snapped. I haven't been myself lately. You were only concerned."

Mike came in looking a bit unsure, but advancing nevertheless. After a moment, he sat on the very edge of Arthur's bed, still giving him his space.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently. Arthur glanced up at him and blinked a bit in surprise before he swallowed thickly. No, he didn't want to talk about it. Not with Mike, not with Michelle, and _not_ with Alfred.

"No. I don't."

"Oh…well, hey, it's a beautiful Saturday. My shift is almost over, but I have to do a sweep of the grounds first. Why don't you tag along with me?" Mike offered. Arthur started to turn him down, but at the last second, he caved. Why not? Maybe some fresh air would rid him of his obsessive worrying over the situation with Alfred.

"Alright. That sounds…nice," Arthur agreed. He liked the snow and the fresh air. He missed it, living in a room with no windows.

"Good. I think Lane is here now," Mike said, standing and stretching before returning to the hallway. He reported that there was no unusual activity to Lane, the older, gruffer woman that swapped guard duty with Mike, and then he told her Arthur was leaving with him. "Nobody gets in that room, right?" he said with a smile and a reassuring wink at Arthur.

Arthur appreciated their kindness, truly he did, but he just couldn't bring himself to act chipper about any of it. Lane seemed to understand. She nodded at him solemnly as he trailed off after Mike down the hallway.

"How are your classes?" Mike asked, once they were outside. Arthur breathed in a little sharply as the cold hit him and made the tip of his nose start stinging. He glanced at Mike's broad-shouldered back and scowled. He didn't want to make small talk. He only wanted to stretch his legs a bit.

"Could we just walk quietly? I'm sorry, but I have quite a bit on my mind," Arthur said. Mike glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Sure thing."

They walked over the grounds in a fairly predictable pattern. What was not predictable was that as they neared the cafeteria, Arthur realized it was dinner time, and who should come strolling out after eating his meal but none other than Alfred Jones. He was bundled up in a rather odd mash-up of clothing—nothing seemed to really match or fit quite right, but he looked deliciously warm and comfortable. He was listening (or pretending to listen—Arthur knew that look well) to the ramblings of the short, pale kid he walked beside. Arthur didn't know his name, only that he was one of the few "special education" students that attended World Academy. Arthur had heard he was some sort of science prodigy, but his grades didn't show it and he was highly anti-social.

Alfred's eyes met his and he stopped dead in his tracks. Tony continued speaking in his odd, unemotional monotone, before he realized Alfred was no longer beside him. He noticed Arthur next, and he gave Arthur a look of such pure, unbridled hatred that it shocked Arthur into a full stop. Suddenly, he heard the snarling voice of his attacker in his mind, and even though he knew it was impossible—his attacker had been a bigger fellow while Tony was stunted and scrawny—that _look_ gave Arthur horrible feelings.

"Huh? Arthur, why'd you—oh. Uh…come on. I don't know what's wrong with that kid, but I know he's not all _there_…if you catch my drift," Mike gruffly whispered. As more students filed out of the cafeteria, the tense moment broke. Suddenly, Tony was _screaming_ at him across the courtyard.

"STAY AWAY YOU FUCKING LIMEY! HE HATES YOU! HE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN! FUCK YOU!"

"Tony!" Alfred said in loud surprise. Some of Alfred's old football buddies began to laugh at the scene.

"Ha ha! Jones, your new little ass buddy is having a spazz attack. Better get him his meds, Jonesy!" They walked off in a group, still laughing over the odd bit of drama.

"That Tony kid is such a freak. Shame Jones went all special ed on us. He wasn't a bad guy for a queer."

It was all horrible, and embarrassing, and Arthur didn't know what to do besides throw his hood up to hide his dark blush and run…run from the mocking laughter…run from Alfred's big, shocked eyes…run from the strange boy's hatred-filled curses.

He didn't stop running until he was back in his room with no windows, locked inside, curled up against the door and crying harshly into his arms.

* * *

><p>Alfred wanted to go after Arthur right away, he really did, but something was <em>seriously<em> wrong with Tony. After cursing Arthur out so violently, he dropped down into the snow and just started rocking, and clawing at his clothes, and even banging his head down against the hard packed snow a few times. Completely freaked out, Alfred stood frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Of all people, it was Patty that helped him out while everyone else just whispered and even laughed. She dropped down beside Tony and threw her big fluffy jacket around him. When he was completely encased, she wrapped her arms firmly around him and just sat like that with him in the snow, holding him in a firm embrace. Alfred wanted to run off like Arthur had—he was embarrassed too, damn it, but he was Tony's friend. He wouldn't just leave him like that.

"W-what do I do?" Alfred asked shakily.

"Help me get him to his feet. Come on, Tony. It's time to go back to your room."

Tony practically went limp in Patty's arms, and though he was tiny for his age, Patty was not strong at all. Using dormant muscles, Alfred easily hefted Tony into his arms.

"How romantic!" a jeering voice shouted. Surprisingly, it was Matthew that pushed through the crowd and shouted back.

"Shut up! How sick are you to make fun of someone in that kind of condition? Do you completely lack a soul? You're probably the same twisted sort of jerk that throws your empty beer cans at homeless people!"

"Easy, Matthew, easy!" Francis said, gently trying to redirect Matthew from chasing after the well-scolded teenager. Even though he already had a lump on his temple the size of a small golf ball, Matthew looked ready for round two.

"I can't believe him! People are such…such…_meanies_! Maple! Now my head _really _hurts!" Francis lovingly tucked Matthew into the curve of his arm and guided him away from the dispersing lunch crowd, and in the direction Alfred had gone.

"Come on. We'll check up on him and see if he's okay. I don't know if this hockey is really for you, Matthew. You are so _violent_ now. Why not take up a calming hobby with me? We could do Vespa tours, or perhaps wine tasting."

"I _like_ hockey. It doesn't make me violent," Matthew argued pettily. Knowing a losing battle when he saw one, Francis merely held Matthew a little closer and dropped the issue.

When the rag tag group reached Tony and Alfred's room, Patty calmly instructed Alfred to put Tony on his bed. Tony sat up, still clutching Patricia's jacket around his bony shoulders, and stared at Alfred's chin, since he was typically unable to make eye contact with people.

"Tony…buddy…what _was_ that?" Alfred finally asked.

"I hate him. I hate him because now that _he's_ back you're not going to be my friend anymore and you're the only friend I've ever had and that's why he's a stupid, fucking limey!"

"Woah! Easy! Tony…I'm not going to stop being your friend just because Arthur came back!" Alfred reassured. Tony scowled, and burrowed down deeper into the jacket, so only his dark, almost black eyes glared balefully out at Alfred.

"You have had sexual intercourse with him and that leads to an intense bonding experience. I read about it. We have not had this bonding experience."

Alfred blushed, and Patty coughed a bit awkwardly into her fist. In the doorway, Matthew and Francis exchanged unsure looks.

"Tony…I don't know what you want me to say. I mean, yeah, I care about Arthur a lot…love him, even…but you're my friend, too."

"If _we_ sexually bonded, then he would not be competition for your resources."

Patty snorted at that, and Francis bit his lip to prevent laughing out loud. Alfred shook his head, and then crossed to the bed and sat beside Tony. Casually, he dropped his arm around his shorter friend and gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"It doesn't work like that. Tony, we're bros. Like Captain Kirk and Spock. Like Chewbacca and Hans Solo. We already have a great bond just the way it is—no, err, sexual relations required. Do you understand?"

"No…but I find most typical human behaviors beyond my ability to comprehend. He may have one hour of your time every other day, pending he does not become irrational or too unpredictable. I will use this time to work on my research projects. You are not smart enough to comprehend them, and so it will be beneficial to me if you are gone during that time."

"Uh…" Alfred said rather dumbly.

"I think he's giving you permission to spend some time with Arthur…as long as you make it routine. I took a psychology class last summer. Asperger kids like routine, and I think it's safe to say Arthur just disrupted Tony's."

"Precisely. Finally, one amongst you shows a semblance to intelligent thinking," Tony said in his almost mechanical way of humming his words. Alfred glanced at Matthew a bit helplessly and finally just shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess that's sorted, then? So, you okay, Tony?"

"I am functioning at an acceptable level of performance. Take back your jacket. I no longer require it," Tony said flatly. Figuring that was as close to a "thanks" as she was going to get, Patricia accepted the return of her coat and offered Alfred a half-smile.

"It was good of you to stick around and help, Alfred. I'm glad…I'm glad deep down you haven't changed."

Alfred swallowed thickly at the words and his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

"Patty…what do you mean by that?" Alfred asked. Suddenly, Matthew and Francis felt like they were intruding. They stepped back into the hallway. Oblivious to social cues, Tony just stared at them unblinkingly.

Patty smiled, and it was warm and gently and all things good.

"Alfred…you're a _good_ person, even when it's not easy to be good. That's enough, really. You don't have to be anything more than that."

"Oh," Alfred said. It was hard to read his tone. He seemed torn between let down and on the brink of understanding a profound insight into his own character.

"I've gotta get back to my room now. Bye Tony, bye Alfred. See ya around," Patty said softly. As she left, Matthew smiled at her in gratitude and Francis nodded his head.

"Thank you," Matthew said. "None of us knew what to do. We were lucky you were there."

"It's nothing really. Have a nice night," she said, and she left just as quietly as she'd arrived.

"Since it seems everything is okay, we're going to go, too. We need to talk sometimes soon, though, Alfred," Matthew said. Alfred glanced out in the hallway long enough to acknowledge them and say goodbye.

Then it was just himself and Tony.

"Now that the others are gone, do you want to sexually bond? All my research indicates it would greatly strengthen our alliance."

Alfred slumped comically against his bed and dropped his arm over his eyes. He needed to go check up on Arthur, but he was going to collect himself for a moment before he did. What a crazy day.

"Does your silence mean assent?"

"Does 'assent' mean yes?" Alfred asked, his words partially muffled by his arm.

"Yes."

"Then no," Alfred replied, just as bluntly as Tony himself liked to speak. Alfred could feel the weight of Tony's flat gaze on him, but he didn't move his arm or sit up just yet.

"Your decision is acceptable. I do not think it would be enjoyable to put my penis in your—"

"Tony! Jeez! Enough with the sex stuff!" Alfred complained.

"—in your butt hole. My research into the subject informs me that it is courteous to stretch one's partner before the act using fingers, but—"

"Urrghh!" Alfred moaned in embarrassment.

"—but I find the idea of putting a finger in your anal cavity unpleasant."

Alfred sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and landing with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped up on his hands. He smiled sweetly at Tony.

"Can I give you a tip, Tony? Next time, just say 'I'm straight.' It's a lot more direct that way. You like direct, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Right. Glad we had this talk, little buddy. I'm going to head out now, okay?"

"You have one hour for your sexual bonding. If you need less time, that is acceptable."

"This day has been embarrassing enough. Let's not add premature ejaculation on top of everything else, okay? I can handle an hour, alright? Geez!"

"My research indicates—"

"GAH! LEAVING NOW!" Alfred bellowed before sprinting out of their shared room and slamming the door shut behind himself.

Alone in the bedroom, Tony just smiled.

* * *

><p>AN: The whole last part of this chapter only happened because a reviewer mentioned that there are, in fact, AlfredTony shippers out there. Obviously, I'm not one of them…but the idea amused me greatly. Hope it amused you, too. I also just wanted to point out that Tony automatically assumes he'd be topping. Teehee. ^.^


	23. One Step Closer

**Chapter 23**

Alfred walked down the long hallway towards Arthur's new room slowly. It wasn't that he didn't want to fix things with Arthur—he _desperately_ did—but everything had become so overwhelming that he'd had to take a break. Clearly, that feeling was mutual.

The hallway guard came into sight first and she glanced him up and down before turning and knocking on the door brusquely.

"Visitor," she barked. Alfred frowned. She almost made it sound like Arthur was in prison or something.

The door opened slowly, but all too soon, Arthur was peering out into the hallway at him. His green eyes were puffy from crying and his hair was a flyaway mess, and he still had snow flurries trapped in the creases of his clothes. Had he just been sitting in his room crying?

Alfred picked up his pace, did not pause to be asked in, and muscled his way inside the door and shut it firmly behind him. He then wrapped Arthur up in a fierce, strong hug. Arthur remained stiff in his arms, but he made a harsh, jagged little sound, like a surprise sob.

It was Arthur who gently pushed him away, quickly wrapped his arms around himself, and scooted to sit on the far side of the room. Alfred tried not to be hurt by the distance, but it stung. It really did.

"I'm sorry about what Tony said. He's got this disorder that makes it hard for him to do social stuff. We really get along despite that, and I guess he felt scared you coming back would make him lose me. He can't really control the outbursts, I don't think."

"Is he your next hero project?" Arthur asked with more bite than he intended. He winced even as he said it, and Alfred's big blue eyes filled with hurt.

"I'm not trying to change Tony. I like him how he is. I didn't…I didn't come here to talk about him, though," Alfred said.

"No?" Arthur replied, still snapping without meaning it. Alfred's hands balled up into fists and he stared fiery holes in his jeans.

"What do you _want_ from me, Arthur? First you say you love me, and you want to be together after school, and you talk about kids, even…and now…it's like everything I say and do is wrong."

"I'm sorry," Arthur finally said, quietly. Alfred looked up with fear in his eyes.

"Sorry, let's get back together, or sorry, I'm ending this?"

It killed Arthur, but the tightness in his chest and the all-consuming fear in his heart gave him no choice.

"Sorry that I'm…ending it."

"Oh. You…you don't love me anymore?" Alfred asked, sounding for all the world like a six year old who'd just been told Santa was a lie. Arthur couldn't even look at him.

"The world isn't so black and white, Alfred. I will always love you."

"Then _why_? Why can't we be together? Is it because of the stalker? Because you can't let him ruin your whole life!" Alfred had become passionate, and he stood now, closing the distance between them. Arthur panicked.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" he snapped, loudly, with all the force of hurling knives. Alfred froze, and then staggered backwards until his back was against the door.

"Why? Please, Arthur, just tell me _why_. I love you so much. Seeing you like this is killing me," Alfred begged helplessly. He was crying now. Arthur saw his pain, and he wanted to make it all go away…but he couldn't.

"Alfred, look at me! I'm not the boy you fell in love with anymore. Who wants a boyfriend you can't ever touch again? Who wants to be shackled to someone who cries during sex and never wants to take their clothes off and is constantly _afraid_ all the time?"

"If the stalker is caught…" Alfred trailed off weakly.

"The damage is still done! I'm broken now! I don't want you near me! I don't want you touching me! I don't want sex, I don't want a boyfriend—I just want to be alone where I'm safe!"

"If all that's true…then why come back, Arthur?" Alfred asked quietly. He was still crying, the tears slipping out over his high cheekbones and down the now slightly chubby cheeks.

"I had to tell you in person. More importantly, I'm here in case he comes back. I can't live the rest of my life knowing he's out there. They _have_ to catch him. I'll go crazy if they don't."

"This isn't _fair_," Alfred finally whined, sounding more like a little boy than ever before. Arthur nearly cracked.

"Life isn't fair. Haven't you heard?" he replied waspishly. He kept a stiff upper lip. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

"So…I just go…and then what?"

"Alfred, for god's-sake, people break up all the time! You'll find someone else. You'll go to your classes. You'll get over it, and years from now this'll just be some stupid thing you had as a teenager that seems incredibly juvenile in hindsight."

"That may be true for you…but it won't be true for me. I love you, Arthur. That isn't going to change. If you asked me again a thousand years from now, I'd _still _love you." Alfred's blue eyes bore into him across the room—even his _gaze_ was heavy and far too intimate.

"Leave, Alfred. Just leave. I've given you all the explanation I owe. I don't want to see you anymore."

For a moment, Alfred stood helplessly in front of the door, and then, with no other option, he left through it.

* * *

><p>"So he ended it," Alfred finished glumly. It was the following morning, and Matthew had come to physically drag Alfred out of bed. Tony, by comparison, had wanted to attempt growing some fungi cultures on Alfred if he truly was "not going to get out of bed again…ever."<p>

Matthew, however, thought breakfast was a wiser course of action.

"I hate to say it, Alfred, but he's right. People do break up all the time. The world does keep spinning."

"Not for me it doesn't," Alfred insisted. He took a deep drink of his hot chocolate and then dropped his head onto the table rather dramatically.

"I mean…you kind of already knew, didn't you? He left for a month and didn't say a word to you, Alfred."

"Maybe I'm slow on the uptake," Alfred grumbled into his arms. Matthew had to hide a smile and Alfred's petulant tone.

"Well…if it makes you feel any better…I agree with you that you can't give up."

"I don't care if you don't agree with—wait. Huh?"

Matthew let his smile show then.

"Arthur's acting this way because of the attack. He said it himself that he loves you still, right? It sounds like he's just confused and scared and acting on instinct."

"Yeah! Exactly!" Alfred enthused.

"So…you can't stay in bed forever if you're going to convince him you're still his hero, right?"

"You're right! I've already wasted…" he glanced at his cell phone, "like four hours! I've gotta…I've gotta…"

"Talk to Francis," Matthew suggested.

"Yeah! I've gotta talk to Fra—wait a second. Why would he help me? Won't he be glad Arthur dumped me?" Alfred asked skeptically.

"Francis likes you, Alfred. He just won't ever admit it."

"Really?" Alfred asked a bit doubtfully. Matthew smiled over the lip of his coffee cup (extra maple syrup).

"Really. He's off first period, too. Room 312."

"Thanks, Mattie! You know I owe you big time, right?"

"I know. Oh, and you should probably hear it from me...Francis and I are back together."

Alfred groaned almost comically and dropped back into his seat.

"Matthew," he said sternly. Matthew hid behind his coffee cup.

"You said you owed me, right? Well, I'm cashing in. Trust me…just this once. I think he's changed."

"Mattheeewwwww," Alfred whined. "Why not stay friends a little longer? If he doesn't plow his way through all the girls in our year now that he's back, _then_ you can believe he's changed."

"Alfred, how long does his probationary period have to be? He's been back at school a full month. He's dated nobody. He hasn't slept around. We've remembered how to be friends again. It's been…nice."

"And it can't stay that way because?"

"Because I love him…I think. I don't know. I'm seventeen. I don't have to figure it all out right now, but I know I want to be with Francis again. It may not be perfect…but it's better than pining over someone I can't have."

Alfred took Matthew's hands in his own, gently. His look was so earnest and sweet that Matthew almost blushed.

"You know I love Arthur. You'll always be my brother from another mother. I'm sorry that you can't have my heart, Matthew."

"I'm not in love with YOU… idiot!" Matthew snapped, swatting Alfred with a nearby folder. Alfred's boyish grin told him he'd known that the entire time. It faded, however, as he contemplated his friend.

"Does Alex know?" Alfred asked. Matthew shook his head, lips pursed tightly.

"That's…harsh. I'm sorry, Mattie. Figures you'd be the one to fall for the straight guy."

"Horrible taste in men…I know. Francis and I have already discussed that."

"Well, at least he admits it! You really think Francis can help me get Arthur back a second time?" Alfred asked, standing up once more. Matthew flashed him a smile.

"I'm sure he can. He's known Arthur since he was a kid, after all. They're best friends…_strange_, dark and twisted best friends…but best friends nevertheless."

* * *

><p>"There's absolutely no way I can help you get him back," Francis said simply. He made to close his door, but Alfred pushed his foot in.<p>

"Wait! No! You _have_ to help me! Matthew promised you would! He said you secretly liked me and you'd know how to fix this because you've known Arthur his whole life and the serenade worked last time, so…you have to help. You just have to!"

Francis let out quite possibly the World's Biggest Sigh.

"Fine…come in. _Merde_, when did you last shower?" Francis asked prissily. Alfred sniffed at his pit area a bit embarrassedly and winced.

"Um…"

"You should not have to strain to remember the answer to that question! Into the shower with you. Quickly. I don't have all day."

Feeling caught up in the urgency of the moment, Alfred ignored the strangeness of showering in someone else's dorm room and took a hasty shower. Not hasty enough, however, because his clothes were gone in the time it took him to shampoo his hair and soap up under his arms.

"Francis, where are my clothes?" Alfred called out.

"Clothes? I don't know what you're talking about. I found some smelly rags in my bathroom. Odd…no idea where they came from."

"FRANCIS!" Alfred bellowed. Then, softer, "Do I at least get a towel?"

Smiling to himself, Francis tossed the towel in and Alfred emerged a few moments later, towel gripped securely around his waist. He looked very, very nervous.

"Sit," Francis ordered. "I only have about 45 minutes until my first class."

"What are you going to do with those tweasers?" Alfred asked nervously. Francis cackled with evil laughter.

"Magic, Alfred!"

"OW! STOP! I NEED THE HAIR ON MY FACE!"

"Just…hold…STILL!"

The tweasers moved in a blur of silver as Francis systematically plucked and ripped. Big, fat babyish tears began to roll down Alfred's cheeks.

"Okay…if it…OUCH! If this helps me get Arthur back…"

"Who said anything about Arthur? You smelled bad and your brows were offensive to me. I'll talk to you when you don't look and _smell_ like a knuckle dragging monkey."

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

Francis surveyed his work and smiled in satisfaction.

"That is such a relief. You have no idea. Now…tell Uncle Francis all about it."

"Fraaaaaancis! That was _mean_!"

"You'll live. Now talk. I'll be finding you something to wear, but I'm listening," Francis assured. So Alfred told the whole break-up story yet again, discovering that it was still just as painful to think about, and it was almost enough to make him start sniffling again.

When Alfred was dressed it some god awful skinny jeans (purple, of all colors) and a shirt depicting a metallic kitten in a beret on the front ("It's not my fault you are a fatass and this is the only big shirt I have!") Francis stared at him considering. Alfred felt utterly ridiculous, but he waited. He'd endure whatever torture or embarrassment Francis could dish out.

"At six every day, you take your homework into the hallway and you sit there to do it. You sit there for three hours, until he goes to sleep. At first, sit at the end of the hallway. If he opens his door, he'll be able to see you, but you aren't within hearing range. At first, he won't know what you're doing, and he'll be too proud to ask."

"So I just…sit there?"

"Simple enough, no? Then, the next week, you move one foot closer."

"Umm…I think I'm missing something."

"Each week, you'll move a foot closer."

"But Francis…that'll take me till the end of the year!"

"Exactly. Don't you see, Alfred? The answer you're looking for…it's patience. I know it's not a strength of yours, but it must be, if you're to get him back."

"So why the sitting in the hallway part?" Alfred asked confusedly. Francis smiled.

"One step closer at a time…it is _very _romantic. You will just have to trust me. He will understand what it means."

"Even if I don't understand it?"

"After a few weeks, _you_ will understand it, too."

"Do I…do I have to dress like this while I do it?"

"If I said yes…would you?" Francis asked with a wide, shit-eating grin. Alfred _almost_ started crying again.

"Fine. I'll do it. I'll do anything." Alfred's blue eyes shone with steely determination.

"It certainly won't hurt to look nice," Francis mused dismissively. Alfred wasn't sure if that was a "yes—wear the awful cat shirt" or "no—not necessary" but the bell rang and Francis hastily grabbed his bag.

"Come along. You've already skipped first period, haven't you? Let's get going."

Today, it was purple skinny jeans standing between him and Arthur, but Alfred was a man on a mission. With a deep breath, he held his head high and went to second period, ignoring all the teasing and the laughter. Nobody would have looked twice at Francis or Matthew in such a combination, but it had not been too long ago that Alfred had been on top of the school. Oh how quickly the mighty had fallen.

* * *

><p>Arthur returned from dinner with a book bag full of makeup work. He'd skipped Michelle's offer to join the defunct Hero Club. He was so preoccupied with the assignments floating around in his head, that he almost missed him. It was actually Mike that pointed him out.<p>

"He's been down there for an hour already. Is he waiting for you?" Mike asked, sounding rather bored by it all. Arthur's eyes narrowed. No, Alfred was sitting at the end of the hallway, but it was the hall that connected to his own. He was playing some sort of card game with Matthew by the looks of it. Alfred happened to glance up, and he flashed him a sad smile for the briefest of moments before he went back to his game.

It was just coincidence that he was sitting there, though it was an inconvenient spot for a card game. Maybe their roommates needed their rooms for something. Arthur bit down on the pain of seeing Alfred so close, but yet so far away, and entered his room resolutely.

Once the door had closed, Matthew reached over and squeezed Alfred's shoulder.

"Patience, eh?"

"Yeah…patience. Got any twos?"

"Go fish."

* * *

><p>On day two, he was still out there, in the exact same spot, and Arthur was naturally suspicious. This time, he was accompanied by his strange new friend, who screamed "FUCKING LIMEY" down the hallway as soon as Arthur peeked out the door at them. Alfred just laughed, and Arthur was terribly hurt thinking maybe Alfred was trying to get some sort of twisted revenge. The anger he felt was almost irrational, and he got absolutely no work done that night. He wanted to look out his door again, but he refused to give Alfred and his horrid little friend the satisfaction.<p>

He stewed over it all night, though, and all the next day in classes. He almost confronted Alfred about it in science, but at the last moment he decided he was going to let Alfred be petty and immature if that's what he wished. It made Arthur feel justified in dumping him.

On day three, it was Francis out in the hall with Alfred, and Arthur felt betrayed. He refused to yell at Alfred…but he could most certainly yell at Francis. He stomped down the hallway with a carefully crafted mask of apathy. Francis smiled at him as he approached. He was perusing a fashion magazine, and occasionally helping Alfred with his English paper.

"If you're conducting a tutorial, don't you think a more appropriate place would be the library?"

Alfred glanced up at him, but then buried his eyes in his English paper and seemed to hunker down, as if he was physically bracing himself to stay right where he was no matter what. It was so childish! Arthur couldn't believe it. If Alfred thought he was getting to him—annoying him—well, he was succeeding completely, but damn if Arthur would admit it!

"Why? Does it _bother_ you that we are sitting here? I admit, the view could be more pleasant. One day, Alfred, I'll get my hands on his eyebrows."

"Dream big, Francis," Alfred muttered in reply, not even bothering to hide his mocking smile. Arthur sneered at both of them. To think, he'd once considered Francis a _friend_! He felt completely foolish. He gave them both his most hate-filled glare and then stomped back down the hallway and slammed his door.

"I don't know if this is working, Francis. He seems _really_ mad at me now," Alfred said immediately. Francis, however, just smiled placidly and flipped another page in his magazine.

"He hasn't figured it out yet. He will, eventually. Remember, what's our word?"

"Patience," Alfred answered, though he sounded quite tortured by the whole thing. It was only day three, and he was already getting quite bored with sitting for such long periods of time in the hallway. Sure, his friends had been great about coming to support him in his quest, but they'd get bored sooner rather than later, wouldn't they?

Soon, it would just be him doing what he had to do all by himself, with little promise that it would even pay off.

On days four and five, Arthur ignored him completely. It almost crushed Alfred's resolution, but on day four, Michelle sat with him and whenever he got down about it, she kicked him, or pinched him, and told him to stop being a baby. On day five, it was Ivan, of all people, who dropped down onto the floor across from him and acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. They talked about cars for awhile, had a few arm wrestling contests (Ivan won) and then they talked about where they might travel over the summer. Ivan invited him to come over that weekend before his, as Ivan called it, "three hours of I-fucked-up-again" time. Alfred protested that he wasn't even clear that he had fucked things up, nor was he entirely clear why he was waiting in the hallway day after day, but nevertheless, he came back on day six.

This time, it was Yao who met with him, without Alfred having said a word about the time or the purpose. He'd brought tea, and food that was much better than the crappy sandwiches Alfred had crammed in his book bag. Yao even spread out a pretty blanket and pretended they were having a picnic…as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing to do in the hallway.

Upon seeing Yao, perhaps the one friend Arthur thought he still had left, sitting in the hall with Alfred, Arthur crumbled. He was crying before he was even in his room, and it was only the gentle hand that Yao pressed against Alfred's shoulder that held him still.

"He has to realize it on his own. He has to realize we are not his enemies. It will just take time. Remember your word, Alfred—you promised you would do this for him."

"Patience. I remember. But this is really hard! You being here made him cry. Maybe you shouldn't come back again. I mean, I'm grateful, I really am…but I can do it alone. I don't want him hurting more than he has to hurt."

Yao gave him a very small, proud smile and then and passed him a teacup.

"Tomorrow you move a step closer, yes?"

"I guess," Alfred replied a bit glumly. Yao peered at him with a wise look over the rim of his elegant little tea cup. The cup looked natural in his hands, but the same cup looked silly in Alfred's large grasp.

"Am I out here to protect him? I mean, I'm all for that…but couldn't the stalker just come when I leave?"

Yao delicately sipped from his cup. "Drink your tea, Alfred. You'll understand when it's the right time."

"I feel like everybody's in on some big secret except me and Arthur," Alfred pouted. Yao just smiled and passed Alfred a dish of rice.

"There is no secret. It's just love, isn't it?"

"This is a weird way to love someone," Alfred replied, clearly not entirely convinced. Yao smiled that secretive little smile again and drank more tea.

"Mmm. Maybe. Drink your tea before it gets cold."

By day seven, Alfred never thought he'd be so excited to move a damn step in his entire life. It felt like he'd been in a week-long traffic jam, and the light had finally turned green. It was like the gun going off at the start of a marathon, and Alfred was bursting forwards…only to realize that one step further was not all that very far.

"He's not even going to realize I moved!" Alfred whined. Francis and Matthew shared a fond look and then sat opposite him, essentially in the same places they'd been the week prior.

"No, he probably won't," Francis agreed.

"But that's the whole point, right?" Matthew replied.

"WHAT point? I just don't get it! Please tell me. You guys know I'm not very smart. I'll be across campus if you wait for me to figure this out on my own," Alfred said miserably.

Any answer Francis and Matthew might have given was interrupted by Arthur returning from dinner. He glared frostily at them for a long, terrible moment, and then made small talk with Mike that they couldn't quite hear before going inside his room.

"He's not going to crack. He's too stubborn. I'll be blocking his door and he'll just step over me."

"Hmm…you think so?" Francis replied with a broad smile, as if the idea of such a scenario highly amused him.

"Whatever. You're not going to tell me what's going on, but I can be stubborn, too! I can be more stubborn than Arthur! I'll sit in front of his door all freaking summer if that's what I have to do—just you watch me!"

Alfred expected Francis and Matthew to laugh at him, or to try to calm him down, but instead, they just went about getting out their homework for the evening.

"You…you aren't going to argue with me?"

Matthew smiled at him in a fond, though slightly exasperated way.

"I believe you'd wait a thousand years, if you had to. That's why I'm here. That's why we all come."

Alfred didn't know what to make of that, so he stayed quiet for the rest of his time in the hallway, and finished day seven from the new vantage point of being one step closer to Arthur.

* * *

><p>It took an entire week for Arthur to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be some sort of strange revenge game. For starters, Alfred was really the only one among their friends (Tony excluded) who was immature enough to come up with some sort of petty, get-even scheme, and furthermore, while he might fantasize about it, Alfred was too sweet-hearted to actually try to hurt him.<p>

So Arthur was forced to realize his friends had not betrayed him, and though it was possible…it didn't seem like they were showing their support of Alfred by sitting with him in the hallway every day. Something else was going on.

"I don't care if they make the hallway their new hangout spot. I'm actually at school to learn. I don't have time for their childishness!" Arthur said to himself in the solitude of his room. He renewed his determination to ignore them for as long as possible, and to speak to the school authorities if they threatened him in any way.

Week two of the strange hall game continued with strange regularity. Arthur was only comforted by the small fact that Mike seemed just as perturbed over it as he was.

"Want me to tell them to clear out of the hallway? I don't think they're breaking any rules, but it's sure as fuck weird."

"I know, but I won't give him the satisfaction. Let them play in the hallway. I have better things to do."

And so life became kind of normal again, but something was happening…the hallway club, as Arthur had mockingly titled it, continued to grow. It was never a large crowd at a time, but it almost became interesting to Arthur to see who would be waiting in the hallway each day. Somewhere in the middle of week three, just a week until Christmas vacation, there was a student keeping Alfred company that Arthur had never seen before, and he was almost positive Alfred didn't know her either.

She didn't talk to Alfred, of if she had, she spoke to him before Arthur returned to his dorm. She actually cried for almost the entire three hours. Arthur knew, because he stood in the hallway with Mike just watching them. Alfred didn't do homework or play card games like he usually did. At first, he just sat across from the girl unsurely, as all the boys of the dorm walked by between them. Then, he crossed the hallway and sat beside her. He offered her his hand, and she clutched it so tightly her knuckles went white.

"Alright, this has gone on long enough. What the _hell_ is going on here?" Arthur asked loudly enough to be heard down the hallway.

"Go ask. I'm curious," Mike encouraged.

Arthur started to march down the hall just as he'd done when he saw Francis, but at the last possible moment, he stopped. He couldn't do it. He knew it didn't make sense…it was just a silly hallway…but he knew that the girl was crying because of something horrible, just as he knew she was fighting with everything she had to stay exactly where she was sitting, tears or no. Something about her struggle was magnetizing to watch…and Arthur felt like he couldn't intrude. He wasn't ready. It didn't feel safe. He didn't know what was going on at the end of the hallway, but he was simply not ready to face it.

So he stood by his door and he watched, and at the three hour mark, just like every other night, the girl hastily stood, threw her arms around Alfred's shoulders, and left with a strange aura of calmness surrounding her. She held her head high, and she walked with her shoulders squared, and even though she'd just been crying in the hallway for three hours while all the guys of the dorm walked by and stared and even cracked jokes about her. Despite all that, she seemed incredibly strong to Arthur, as she walked away.

Arthur went to bed after the girl and Alfred left, but he tossed and turned, and he couldn't find sleep no matter how hard he tried.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** First of all, for the full effect, you need to listen to Christina Perri's song "A Thousand Years" as you read this chapter. Well, I guess you don't _have_ to, but I listened to it for five plus hours as I wrote it…on repeat. Just the one song. I tried to capture the same essence of the music, but hearing it is always better.

Some of you may get where I'm going with this, and some of you may not. I hope you do stick around for the next few chapters, though, because I'm excited to tell this part of the story. It means a lot to me. I hope that comes across in my writing of it. As always, thanks for the reviews!


	24. Don't Stand for It

**Chapter 24**

"Did you hear? There's a Hero Club event happening in the boy's dormitory every night," a girl whispered to her friend. On the other side of the bookshelf, Arthur strained his ears to hear their gossip. Last night, the strange crying girl had stayed in his head all night. He knew he should just break and ask Alfred or Francis, since Francis seemed to be the mastermind behind whatever was going on, but he knew if he eavesdropped long enough, he'd be able to figure it out on his own. Then he could make his own judgment of the situation, without having to confront Alfred again. Despite his attendance in the hallway every evening, they had not spoken a single word to each other for eighteen days. Not that Arthur was counting.

"I thought that club didn't make it this year?" the girl's friend replied.

"Oh, it's still around, but the regular member list is really exclusive."

Arthur had to snort at that, remembering back to the first year of the Hero Club, when they'd waited in the gym for hours and nobody had ever come. Still, he should have known Alfred's foolish heroic ideals were tied up in all this somehow. At the root of all his troubles was always Alfred, cape tied around his shoulders and playing at being Superman. He should have known dumping the boy wouldn't end the headache.

It also made him feel better to realize it was something about the Hero Club, and likely had nothing to do with him at all. Arthur hadn't known the girl last night, so that proved it. He was just being self-centered, and thinking that every move Alfred made was always about him. Alfred had moved on and was doing some strange thing with his little club. That was all.

"Lila went last night. I'm really surprised. I mean, like, nobody knew," the girl continued.

'_Ah,'_ Arthur thought. _'The crying girl has a name: Lila.'_

"I heard that some boys were laughing at her. Bet they feel like dicks now that word is getting out. Alfred was really sweet though. He stayed by her the whole time. He was the first person she'd ever told. I guess it was easier for her to tell a stranger."

Now Arthur was interested despite himself. Just what in the bleeding hell was Alfred up to?

He could have just asked the girls. No doubt they would have happily explained every little detail, but Arthur was certain that would get back to Alfred somehow…or worse, Francis, and then they'd know that he had cracked. If they were trying to use his curiosity to get him engaged in school affairs again, they were fighting a losing battle. Arthur _didn't _care. He didn't care about World Academy, he didn't care about Alfred's silly Hero Club, and he didn't care about Lila…whoever she was.

That night, Michelle was back in the hallway with Alfred. It appeared like she was trying to convince him of something, but Arthur refused to linger outside his door eavesdropping. Was it just Arthur's brain playing tricks on him, or was Alfred a little bit closer down the hallway?

'_That sort of thinking right there is proof that you're paying this far more attention than it deserves. Stop caring what he does! Whatever it is, it's not enough to fix what's wrong…if that's what he's even trying to do,' _Arthur thought with irritation as he unlocked his door. Mike glanced up from his magazine.

"They're getting closer," he said casually. Arthur had the creepy feeling Mike had been reading his thoughts on his face.

"No they aren't. They're still at the end of the hall. They haven't disturbed me yet. Let them cry in the hallway all day if that's how they want to waste their time. I have homework to do." His words sounded callous, even to his own ears, but Arthur only regretted them a little bit. He was still angry for Alfred not just going away. He knew they shared the same campus, and a run-in every now and then was inevitable, but why did he have to do his weird Hero Club projects at the end of Arthur's hallway?

Arthur knew Alfred _was_ trying to get at him, no matter what anyone said. Arthur dropped his books casually on the floor without the neatness he normally displayed. He jerked off his tie in a similarly annoyed fashion and stripped off his sweater vest and button-up just as fast. It was so very _like_ Alfred to find a way to get under his skin. He kicked off his shoes and glared at the vent up in the corner of his room. Had it been left off today? His glorified storage closet felt particularly warm. He stripped off his trousers as well, and after a moment of hesitation, he slid off his pants. Alfred got under his bed sheet quickly after his customary check under the bed.

Even now, Alfred was sitting at the end of the hallway with Michelle, who could say whatever she pleased about turning over a new leaf but Arthur would always know she was a home-wrecker in the making. She was out there, right at that moment, trying to convince Alfred to…to…what? Date her? Sleep with her?

Possessiveness blossomed in his chest and made him clench his teeth. Gods, his room was _stifling_. He could barely breathe! Would Alfred cave to her advances? Would he let her see what he looked like with nothing but sweat on his skin? Arthur still remembered what it felt like to run his fingers through all that silky blond hair, to kiss his path across baby-soft skin.

Arthur's bout of possessiveness was going straight to his cock. He immediately felt disgusted, betrayed by his own body, and furious that he was fantasizing about his ex-boyfriend while said ex-boyfriend sat just down the bloody hall with the leggy homewrecker. Arthur wanted to show Alfred who he belonged to. He wanted to taste his tongue and stretch him and fuck him.

The words of his assailant popped into his head even though he was trying desperately to keep them out. He didn't even know if what he was remembering was accurate or not, all he knew was that he would never forget that voice, and the threats he'd whispered, and the way his prick had betrayed him then just as it was betraying him now. He gripped the sheets in a white knuckled grip, refusing to touch himself simply because the idea was too revolting. He hated his body for what it was doing to him, for the physical torture he felt every time Alfred flashed him that sweet, loving, heavy-lidded stare that promised to love him forever and a day.

With a grunt of pure frustration, Arthur caved and he grabbed himself roughly under the sheet. His grip was more painful than pleasurable, as much of a punishment as he could make it. He came ridiculously hard and fast, gasping Alfred's name only once, and angrily biting his fist after the name escaped him.

He _didn't_ want Alfred. Not in that way. Not ever again.

* * *

><p>Alfred was glad when Lila didn't come back during week three. He didn't think he could have survived another night of that. It had taken everything he had to not leave his spot. Her story was simple, predictable even. She was a Junior this year. She'd gone to a party, the same type Alfred had attended earlier in the year without a second thought. She'd had too much to drink, and she'd let a guy from the team convince her to make out with him. It quickly escalated and she'd told him no, but he simply hadn't listened. He'd raped her and she hadn't told anyone, because technically they were dating, and she'd been drinking when she shouldn't have, and she was afraid.<p>

And there sat Alfred. What in the hell was he supposed to do with that? Firstly, just listening to her story was hard. What if Alfred _knew_ the guy? What if they'd joked in the locker room or trained together on the field? And how messed up was it that she was afraid to tell anyone—afraid to be more punished than she already had been by her error in judgment? Without her saying so, Alfred knew he couldn't tell anyone. It was Lila's story to tell, and she had made him a part of her story without asking, without preparing him in anyway. He didn't even know her. She could have been any girl. Now Alfred would _never_ forget her, and he'd never forget the burden of trust she'd placed on him. Trust that he would not run away from her, or blow her off. Trust that he would stay in the hallway like he said he would, for three hours, after she'd told everyone what she had about the hallway…after she'd told everyone it was a place for victims of rape to go to tell everyone that they wouldn't run away anymore, and they wouldn't let themselves be shamed.

They would sit. They would sit and wait for Arthur, because he had to know that being forced had not made him less worthy of love and support.

"This is amazing what you're doing. I'm scared. This is the hardest thing I've ever done…but I want…no, I _need_…to be a part of this. I needed to do my time."

And then Lila had sat, first across from him, then beside him, and cried. At some point, though Alfred had no idea of when, her rapist might have even passed them in the hallway. He might have stared at her a second too long. He might have almost asked, but then, like Lila, decided to hold his silence. It had been the longest, most miserable three hours of Alfred's life.

He didn't admit it to Michelle, but he almost hadn't been able to come back on Thursday. Everyone had such faith in him though, even when he was still confused. Everyone, all his friends, and now as it filtered through the gossip chain…everyone believed he was unshakeable in his faith that eventually, Arthur would come back to him. With enough patience, with enough support and love, he had to believe that Arthur could heal.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even months later…but eventually, Alfred would have gotten as close as he possibly could. He would have stayed, giving up parties and other dates, sporting events and school functions, dinner in the cafeteria and extra time to just goof off and relax with friends. If Arthur couldn't have that and enjoy it, then neither would Alfred.

"I'm not here to help a cause. I'm here to make a sacrifice. I'm here because actions speak louder than words. I can't claim to understand what he's going through, or how it feels, but I can prove that I'll wait for as long as it takes, and that I won't try to fix things with words or sex. I'm going to help him with patience. I _get_ it now," Alfred explained wearily to Michelle, as he dropped into his spot for the week. He'd started marking the steps at the end of the hallway with little bits of tape. Three marks of tape in the hall. Three weeks. Three tiny steps of hope, faith, love and patience.

"This is bigger than just you and Arthur now, Alfred! Somehow Lila found out, or figured it out, maybe because of all the coverage over Arthur's attack. Whether you and Francis meant to or not, you've set something huge in motion. As the acting president of the Hero Club, I can't let this opportunity go to waste. _You_ told me to copy Matthew's example, didn't you? He cares about people in a way that I just don't bother with anymore. I've been numb for so long, but I can't be numb anymore. Not about Alex, and not about this."

"Too much attention will just make it worse on Arthur. I'm not going to hurt him more than I have to, Michelle," Alfred insisted stubbornly.

He stood up, stretching his legs, and awkwardly accepted handshakes from a couple of guys passing through that said things like, "Way to go, Jones," and "I respect this, man. We'll come keep you company later."

"See? Alfred, this is something we can _do_. I'm sick of feeling so damned helpless! I made some stupid decisions and _yes_, I fucked up, but I _didn't _deserve what happened to me!"

Alfred sighed. "I understand what you're saying, and I _get_ it now. I really do. I want to help, too, Michelle…but Arthur has to come first. I just can't mess this up. I can't let it get too big. It has to be about him."

"Well that's fucking great for Arthur, isn't it? It's just _great_ that he has boyfriend of the year to stick by him no matter what and fight when he's not strong enough to fight for himself, but what about Lila, Alfred? What about me? Who's going to sit in the hallway for us?"

Alfred guiltily dropped his gaze to the tiled floor. Michelle surprised him by leaning forward and catching his eye, offering a strong smile.

"Since your clueless as usual, I'll tell you who. I am. I'm going to use this for what it is—an opportunity to make sure what happened to me, and Lila, and Arthur…might not happen to anybody else at this school. You handle Arthur. I'll handle Hero Club business, right? I mean, after all…you _did_ appoint me temporary president."

Feeling overwhelmed by her urgency and determination—a light he'd seen in his own eyes plenty enough times—he had to nod.

"I guess I _did_ give you the job. I would have been disappointed if you didn't do the heroic thing."

"Great! Now I can tell you about Francis's next idea…"

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Arthur saw Kiku wearing the shirt in the hallway, and offering him a horrible, pitying smile, that all the pieces clicked. Then there were more of them—anyone who'd ever been associated with the Hero Club was wearing one, and they had Francis written all over them. In a stylish, eye-catching design of printed text, the shirt read on the front:<p>

If you won't stand for rape at our school

Then sit for love and understanding

And there, for everyone to see on the back of Kiku's T-shirt, was a stylized picture of _his_ hallway, and the bright, white ink on the black T-shirt took the shape of a boy sitting in said hallway, just as Alfred had done now for an entire month. There was a website on the back too—clearly some sort of site for rape victim counseling.

Not one fucking word passed between them in all that time, but there was now an unmistakable reason for the boy sitting at the end of his hall. Arthur wanted to rip the shirt off Kiku's back. It almost felt like he was being forced all over again—forced to feel things he didn't want to feel, forced to confront things he didn't want to confront.

He skipped the rest of his classes because everyone was _staring_ at him, and when he passed Michelle in the hallway, he didn't even hesitate. He punched her square in the eye and didn't even feel bad about it, because now he _knew_ what she'd been convincing Alfred about the week before. It hadn't been about sex at all. It had been about a far worst betrayal than that.

Arthur sat on his bed in a pure rage for nearly five hours, just waiting…waiting for him to come. Daring him in his mind to just bloody well fucking _try _him.

The last day of school before winter break, the first day of Michelle and Francis's shirt campaign, Alfred was stupid enough to sit down again on that fourth piece of fucking tape. As if he hadn't humiliated Arthur all over again. As if he hadn't stirred everything back up. As if he wasn't betraying him to everyone who wore one of his stupid, fucking T-shirts.

It even dared to talk of love and, of all things, _understanding_. The rage was so hot and all consuming that Arthur was almost a little scared of himself. But it was Alfred that should be scared, because Arthur was going to make him pay.

There was a crowd this time in the hallway. Stupid, fucking teenagers that put on a goddamn T-shirt and thought they were _doing_ something, who thought they were _saving_ him—_supporting_ him even! They didn't know a fucking thing! They smiled. They cracked jokes. They measured out steps and marked up the border of the hallway with cutesy printed tape.

And Alfred just sat, three markers down, head bowed against his crossed arms. He knew, at least. He knew what he'd done.

As Arthur approached, everyone fell silent. Amongst the crowd, he spotted Francis and Matthew, and Kiku and Heracles. The brainless Feliciano was there, clinging to Ludwig, who looked uncomfortable.

Arthur came to a stop in front of Alfred. Alfred looked up at him slowly. He flinched, and then dropped his head down again.

"So…won't fucking move, will you? Tell them to leave," Arthur said in a very calm voice.

When Alfred didn't immediately reply, Arthur snarled.

"Haven't you hurt me enough already? Do they get to have this part of me, too? Will I get not even a _scrap_ of respect from you?"

"Go," Alfred croaked out, already sounding pathetic. Arthur sneered. He didn't _know_ pathetic. When Arthur was done with him, he'd have a whole new definition of pathetic when he looked in the mirror.

A few people, namely Francis and Matthew, lingered too long. The other attention-seekers cleared out pretty fast at Arthur's tone.

"Arthur…it was my idea," Francis said quietly.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't know he's too bloody _stupid_ to pull a stunt like this on his own? Now are you deaf, or did you just not _hear_ me when I said to leave us the _fuck_ alone?"

"Just GO, Francis!" Alfred shouted, startling everyone but Arthur with his loud outburst. With Matthew nearly in tears, Francis grit his teeth and turned the corner, fists clenched so hard he was likely drawing blood.

When it was just the two of them, Arthur stood for a long moment just feeling the rage course through him. He kicked Alfred in the shin. Hard.

"Get up. Look me in the eye if you're going to call me a fucking victim. If I'm some fucking sniveling victim, then you should be man enough to **look at me**."

Wincing at the pain in his shin, Arthur stood on shaky legs, still firmly planted over his fourth little tape mark. With his lower lip trembling, he looked down at Arthur's furious, completely flat green-eyed stare.

"Would a _victim_ have come back, Alfred? Would a _victim_ walk these halls every goddamned day knowing—_knowing!_—that he's still here? That's he's watching me? Would I face that fear every fucking day if I was some weak, sniveling, helpless _rape_ victim?"

"Not every victim could…but you would. You've always been the strongest person I know," Alfred said quietly.

_SLAP!_

"You don't get to _talk_ about me anymore, Alfred Jones. Don't you think you've done _quite_ enough of that already? Did you truly think this was a good idea?"

"No."

"Then why the FUCK are you here?" Arthur roared, grabbing Alfred by the shirt and swinging him by the fistfuls down to the ground. He stood over the fallen teen with his chest heaving. He kicked at Alfred again, this time connecting solidly with the other boy's thigh.

"I'm here…to be patient. No matter what."

"FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING SLOGANS!" Arthur roared. That seemed to be all he could stand. Arthur flung himself on top of Alfred, punching and scratching, aiming to hurt, aiming to humiliate, aiming to put all the pain he'd inflicted right back on its sender.

And Alfred didn't lift a single finger in his own defense. That made Arthur even angrier.

"Don't you—fucking—act so damn—self-righteous! You're not a hero! You're a moron! A stupid moron that can't see the truth when it's given to you on a fucking platter! We're done! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Arthur, that's enough," Mike's strong, steady voice said as he bodily restrained the violent teen.

He held Arthur in restraint until Alfred managed to scrape himself off the floor.

"You need to go, kid. Get out of the hallway," Mike said gruffly.

But Alfred dragged himself back to the general vicinity of his tape marker and dropped down heavily, like a sack of rocks.

"I'm not moving. He can hate me, but I'm not moving a _fucking_ inch for…" Alfred glanced with a rapidly swelling eye at his watch, "two hours, forty-nine minutes."

"LET HIM, then! Let the idiot sit out here till he ROTS for all I care! Oh, and that last line? Real fucking catchy. You should put it on a fucking car magnet!" Arthur shouted, jerking himself roughly out of Mike's hold and storming off down the hallway. For the second time, his door slammed, and Alfred was sure the hallway stretching between them was infinite.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Short chapter, but I wanted to wrap up the first month or so of the hallway arc before the next part of the story unravels. I've gotten some great reviews, with lots of constructive criticism, and I want to sincerely thank anyone who takes the time to share their thoughts. Getting people's emotional feedback helps me tremendously as a writer.


	25. Darkest Before the Dawn

**Chapter 25**

The two weeks of Christmas break should have been a time for everyone to cool off and all the hype of the Hallway to die down. At least, that's what Alfred had been desperately hoping would happen. Arthur had gone home for the holidays, as had most of the students on campus, including Alfred.

It was his first time to be home for Christmas in the White House, and it was a never-ending stream of press engagements and appointments. His parents dragged him around everywhere—insisting it was owed to them because of his poor behavior choices that had called their parenting into question. Alfred hated it, but he felt guilty for getting arrested and hurting his father's reputation, so he did what he was told.

The story broke nationally, regrettably, when Alfred and his parents were on a popular talk show. His mother was promoting her agenda—health and fitness for Americans—while his father was there to toss out glib, polished talking points about the strengthening economy and how this holiday season would be one of the best yet for American families. The segment was supposed to end with them all working with the host to make a healthy version of a popular holiday dish while fielding questions from the audience.

At least, that's how it was _supposed_ to go.

"So, First Lady, this all looks _amazing._ What White House recipe are you sharing with us today?" the hostess asked chipperly. Alfred and his father stood nearby the spread of ingredients, both dressed in cutesy holiday aprons, both of them wishing they were just about anywhere else. They both smiled, however, as if the prospect of spending all morning making butternut squash soup was the most exciting thing ever. As Helen twittered on about the nutrients found in squash, a few people in the audience began to check their phones. Alfred only noticed it because the show's manager was doing it as well.

Alfred could feel his father's sharp gaze honed in on the manager—he had good instincts and he could sense something was wrong. Obliviously, the talk show hostess and Helen continued cooking, but Alfred and his father exchanged a look of curiosity. In his pocket, Alfred's phone began to vibrate incessantly.

For some strange reason, Alfred thought for a split-second that it might be Arthur calling. He knew he wasn't even supposed to have his phone on him, much less check it during a live show, but his curiosity was burning as more and more guests started checking their phones, even passing them around to show other guests. Finally, unable to resist, Alfred pulled his phone out and saw it was Matthew calling him, but he had about 50 text messages from people at school.

Finally, Helen and the talk show hostess realized something was up. Smoothly, the hostess cut to an audience member with a phone.

"Has something happened? Everyone in the audience seems to be very interested in their phones all the sudden," she commented with a fake smile.

"Oh god," Alfred's voice said weakly. His father's hand gripped his shoulder tightly once Richard realized what his son was reading.

"Give me that," he demanded, snatching the phone and reading the text Alfred had been sent by Ashley, of all people, one of his old friends.

**Alfie, ur ex's sex tape is blowing up! Did you know?**

"Alfred, you have about five seconds to tell me that you did _not_ make a sex tape with that fruity British kid," Richard whispered directly into Alfred's ear. Alfred was shaking his head wildly, almost knocking his glasses off, at the same time frantically trying to remember if somehow he and Arthur could have ever been taped during an intimate moment.

"Okay, so this is related to Alfred Jones, who of course, we just so happen to have here with us today. I'm hearing that we have the clip in question. Can we get it on the screen?" the hostess was asking. Helen, however, was shaking her head.

"Excuse me, but this is not what my family agreed to cover today. If some sort of scandal is breaking, we deserve to face it in the privacy of our home and come to terms with it as a family first," Helen argued. Alfred opened up his browser on his phone, trying to search for what was going on, but seconds later it became unnecessary. The talk show's partnering news station appeared on one of the set's television screens and broke the story.

"The world was shocked to discover that a video of Prince Arthur of Britain has gone viral this morning. Audiences may recall last year, when another video was released of Prince Arthur getting a controversial piercing. Now, it appears that a video of Prince Arthur performing a sex act has been released. The royal family could not be reached for a statement, but their press secretary has said they believe this to be the work of Prince Arthur's stalker, who still remains at large. The police are investigating, though many suspect it was Prince Arthur himself who released the video."

The clip ended and the audience broke out in conversations. Alfred could practically feel the cameras zooming in on his face to capture his every emotion. Much to Richard's embarrassment, it was almost instant tears. Alfred tried to hold them back, but the realization of what was happening—Arthur being violated again, in a whole new painful way—made him so emotional he didn't know what to say or do. For a few moments, he just stood as tears began to pool in his eyes.

The hostess of the talk show was on him in a second.

"Alfred, did you know about this? You look just as surprised as the rest of us. Are you _on_ this tape?"

"No! I…we…this can't…I need to talk to Arthur," Alfred stuttered. Without waiting for permission, Alfred exited the stage, tearing off the stupid holiday apron as he did so. The camera crews rushed after him, even as their security team tried to shield him off, and his parents tried to protect his privacy.

When he called Arthur, it went straight to voicemail. He called again with the same result. He sent a hasty text that autocorrect mangled into something that didn't even make sense, only to try calling once more.

As if by a miracle, the third call went through. It rang twice before Alfred heard Arthur's voice. He sounded hurt and small.

"_Did you…did you do this, Alfred? Did you do this to get me back?"_ Arthur asked quietly. Alfred slammed to a halt, causing one cameraman behind him to nearly trip and fall.

"_No!_ Arthur, I don't know what's been released, but I would _never_ do that to you! I love you. I love you _so_ much. Please…_Arthur_," his voice cracked embarrassingly, "I wouldn't hurt you like this. You can't believe…that I could possibly…"

"_How was I to know this isn't all just an attempt to drum up more hype for your Hero Club project? I did beat you up just a few days ago. I dumped you. I told the police as much. They say you'll be investigated. If I find out you did this—"_

"Arthur! LISTEN to what you're saying! Are you _crazy?_ I had nothing to do with this video getting out! I don't even know if I'm _on_ the damned thing! One minute I'm making butternut squash soup on national television in a damned elf apron and the next minute I'm seeing it break on the news!" Alfred's passionate reply seemed to calm Arthur's suspicions, at least for the moment.

"_I…believe you, I guess. And don't worry about yourself. I'm the only one being violated again. Only this time, it's by the whole fucking world," _Arthur's final statement was so full of bitterness and fury that it made Alfred start crying all over again. Then the line clicked, and Alfred realized Arthur had hung up on him. He called back again, obsessively, redialing and redialing, but it was straight to voicemail each time.

At some point, his father and mother flanked his sides and navigated him out of the television studio and into a waiting car. Richard found the video. Helen hesitated a moment, watching Alfred curled up pathetically against his window still crying quietly, but moved to sit beside her husband and watch it.

"This is…sick. This is sick and twisted," Helen said after a few minutes.

"I'm not a huge fan of Alfred's choice in partners, but the kid didn't deserve _this_. Jesus fucking Christ…I hope they catch this guy soon," Richard muttered under his breath. The video didn't seem to be very long, but Alfred heard the damning sound right at the end—Arthur's voice, hitched in passion and anguish, calling out _his_ name. It was intimate and _private_ and it hit him straight in the gut. Alfred couldn't breathe. He was the only one who was supposed to hear Arthur's voice say his name like that…and now…now his parents and the whole freaking world were watching and listening…perverting it.

"At least…thank god…Alfred's not in it," Helen said quietly. She stared pityingly at her son, who looked so damned pathetic that it was impossible to do anything but attempt to comfort him. Helen switched seats again and lamely patted Alfred's shaking shoulder.

"I've met Arthur. He's a sensible, normal boy. He wouldn't have put a video like that out of himself, and I know you wouldn't have either. If it didn't have the footage at the end, I would have thought some random student might have done it…maybe out of jealousy or…or…I don't know. God, this is all so horrible. I'm sorry, Alfred. I truly am," Helen said. Richard, meanwhile, was on the phone already—apparently with his security team.

"This bullshit has gone on long enough. Nobody fucks with my son like this and gets away with it, do you hear me? I want the lead investigator on this case in my office by the time we get back to the White House!" Richard bellowed.

It turned out that his request for police was unnecessary. They were already at the White House when they arrived—to question Alfred.

Luckily, if good for nothing else, Alfred's parents were not the sort of people who were easily intimidated by anyone. One of the best lawyers in the nation was present and handling everything before Alfred had even gotten out of the car. His parents were on their phones talking a mile a minute, both to the press, to the school, to legal counsel, and to god only knows who else.

Once they reached the White House, it was a blur of people and detectives and paparazzi. Alfred found himself in a small office of the White House, with his parents and his new lawyer, facing the dreaded video on an officer's handheld device.

Images began to roll first, almost innocently…photos captured from earlier that year. Arthur in the hallway at school. Arthur sitting in the stands at one of Alfred's games. Arthur playing with Peter at the park. At least a full minute of rapidly flickering images of Arthur during times when anyone could have been hanging around him. They could have been snapped by a student with a phone, or just an average American with a camera on hand and enough celebrity knowledge to recognize Arthur. Curiously enough, though Alfred knew he'd been around in many of the scenes captured by the photos, he was not _in_ any of them. Sometimes he'd see his arm, or part of his side, but never his face.

The images began flipping faster and faster and faster, hundreds of them, all of Arthur, until the last one showed him in stark black and white. Alfred knew this picture had been taken after the attack. Unlike all the others, where Arthur had been smiling, or his eyes had been dancing happily, in this one he stood alone. He appeared to be looking just a little right of the camera, and he must have been thinking about something sad, because his expression made Alfred's heart clench. It was obvious how much weight he'd lost. His eyes looked flat and expressionless. His strange, adult-like clothing made him look like a little boy playing dress up. A few students passed by in front of him, but they'd been blurred out. It was just Arthur standing still, perhaps having a moment in the middle of his day when he was thinking about what had happened to him, thinking about how much he hated the school, and the people in it, and the person who'd given him that hatred in the first place.

And _someone_ had been there to capture that moment on film. Someone had been watching him closely enough to see just the moment that his defenses lowered, probably not even for more than a second or two, and had snapped the photo of Arthur's vulnerability and his sadness.

Alfred violently threw up, and they had to stop the video. Helen kicked up a fuss about it being too much and she refused to let the police harass him like they were doing, but after all the dramatics and some cleaning up, Alfred quietly told them to finish playing the video.

The first clip of footage began innocently enough. It was in their old room, though, and clearly shot before the attack. Remembering back to the layout of the room, Alfred could only assume it had been filmed from somewhere near the window. Despite that, there was audio. Alfred must have been brushing his teeth or something in the bathroom. Arthur was in the bedroom, still dressed in his school uniform. He looked tired, perhaps worn out by the day, and so his movements were slow and unhurried. First, he loosened his tie. He turned towards the window then, stopping to plug in his phone on the nightstand charger, before he began to unbutton his shirt. He focused on the buttons, going carefully, revealing his undershirt beneath. He then removed his tie and neatly folded it before placing it on the bed they had shared. He slipped out of his shirt next, and went about folding that just as neatly as he had done with the tie.

"Are you almost done, love? You're not putting on a ton of that horrid smelling skin lotion again, are you?"

Alfred's response could not be heard. Arthur, however, frowned at whatever he had said.

"You have beautiful skin as it is. You don't need all those painful, burning scrubs," Arthur muttered mostly to himself. He had stripped off the undershirt, which he took to the dirty clothes bin at the foot of the extra bed. Next, he unbuttoned his pants. Alfred was praying he would stop, because it occurred to him in that moment that this was the video the rest of the world was seeing—his boyfriend in a casual moment—undressing for bed. There was nothing overtly sexual about it, but it was clearly private. It was nothing more than a peeping Tom video. How could anyone think Arthur would have released it himself?

The pants came off. Arthur stepped out of them neatly and began to fold them, as he always did, smiling a little when the sounds of Alfred's muffled singing reached him. With that same amused little grin on his face, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down. The video showed the curve of his backside as he bent over, and the shadow of his privates between his legs. Alfred had seen Arthur undress plenty of times, but now it was through the lens of a shaky camera. It made him furious.

Facing the window now full on, Arthur stripped out of his undershirt and, along with his underpants, tossed them into the dirty bin. Normally, Arthur would have then dressed in his almost prudish old-man pajamas (as Alfred fondly dubbed them) but on this particular night, he was clearly in the mood. He put away his folded clothing and dropped casually onto the bed. After a moment of rummaging around in the nightstand, he found the lube and called something flirtatious out to Alfred, who was still impossible to hear over the sounds of running water in the bathroom.

"If you stop that bloody awful singing, I'll make it worth your while," Arthur called out. Alfred's heart clenched painfully in his chest. It was hard to watch for the obvious reasons—he was in a room of both strangers and his parents, and though the naughty bits had been blurred out, he was essentially watching his boyfriend strip and stretch out on the bed for him. But it was bad because Alfred knew what was coming. He'd remembered that night, like so many others, back when they'd been happy.

Arthur had prepared himself before Alfred had finished up in the bathroom. Sure enough, for the whole world to see, Arthur began to stroke himself languidly a few times, biting on his lip, moaning playfully just to tease Alfred in the bathroom. He spread his legs, though thankfully the camera angle was from the side of the bed and not the foot of it. With practiced ease, he began to work his fingers in, stretching and twisting a bit on the bed, clearly enjoying himself. His pierced nipple glinted occasionally in the darkening room.

"Alfred…I'm _waiting_ for you!"

Then the video changed dramatically, and Alfred was confused. Arthur's words began to repeat, over and over, "Alfred…I'm _waiting_ for you!" played faster and faster until the footage changed, and now the viewpoint was high up in the corner of the room, but the room was different. Alfred barely recognized it—Arthur's new room at World Academy. The one without windows.

The sheet was over him now, but he was still obviously erect. He was biting down hard on his lip, fists clenching at his sides, clearly refusing to touch himself. Then, his willpower broke and he began to furiously pump his shaft under the sheet, his green eyes widened as Alfred's name escaped him, and he just as he quickly bit down on his fist, angry at himself for calling out for his ex.

"_Alfred!_" It was _so _pained sounding. Full of longing and denial and all that separated them and all that held them together. He was pleading for him and fearful sounding of him at the same time. Alfred thought he was going to throw up again if there was much more, but the video footage finally, _finally_, ended.

Except for a final line of text, in horrible red: **You won't have to wait much longer. I'm coming for you…one step at a time.**

"Oh god," Alfred moaned, gripping his hair and trying not to reel too badly from all the implications of the video.

Then the questioning began. While some of the questions were deflected by the lawyer, most Alfred stuttered out answers to without even thinking.

"Where were you on the night of October 18th?" A gruff police officer demanded.

"I was in California doing a commercial. I flew home on the 19th, as soon as Arthur called me," Alfred said.

"Was anyone there would could confirm that?"

"Michelle. My friend Michelle. We were doing the commercial together and we shared a hotel room."

"We'll verify that information," the cop stated as another cop came in. He presented the Jones family with a search warrant for Alfred's room.

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide," Alfred said shakily.

"Oh, of course you don't sweetheart. This is all just precautionary. Though I wish they were focusing all this manpower and attention on finding the _real_ person who did this to Arthur," Helen replied with a frosty glare at the interrogating officer. Alfred could tell she was holding back. Even in a crisis, she knew everything that was said or done would come back to reflect on Richard's political standing.

Eventually, the police got what they needed and cleared out. They left with Alfred's computer, his camera, and his cell phone in neatly marked evidence bags. At least they'd been nice enough to let him copy down his friends numbers before they took it.

Once everything had settled down, and while the police were ransacking his room at World Academy, Alfred tried calling Arthur again. Four times. He didn't answer, so Alfred sent another text.

**The police just finished up here. They took my computer and my camera and stuff.**

He waited, but no reply came. Feeling miserable, he called Matthew.

"_Hello?"_ Matthew greeted, sounding nervous.

"Mattie, it's me," Alfred said in a miserable tone.

"_Thank god! I've been getting so many calls from the press, but I kept answering because I thought you might call from an unfamiliar number. Alfred…this is horrible. I'm so, so sorry!" _

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. Did you…did you see it?" Alfred asked.

"_No. I won't do that to Arthur. None of us will. Besides, the police are working quickly. It's been shut down pretty fast. Arthur's not 18 yet, so it's considered child pornography in the states. They're making sure people know that so the search count for it has dropped pretty sharply."_

"At least that's something. The police came here. I think I'm a suspect now."

"_What? That's ridiculous!" _

"Yeah, but they gotta explore every option. I don't blame them…it's just…they made me watch the video, with my _parents_ in the room. That shit was scary, man. I'll be the first to admit it doesn't make me look very good. I'm not _in_ it, but it still seems…I dunno…focused on me?"

"_I'm sorry. Have you managed to talk to Arthur at all?" _Matthew asked quietly.

"At the set of the talk show, a bit. He just basically wanted to know if I'd done it. That hurts pretty bad too, realizing he'd think I was capable of…"

"_Yeah,"_ Matthew agreed. _"I did see the talk show footage. That was a hard time and place to find out."_

"Fuck, Matthew. This is such a huge mess. I just want it all to go away."

"_Imagine how Arthur must feel. There are people saying he's doing all this for attention."_

"I want to kill this guy, Matthew. The police better find him before I do, because I swear to _god_ that I'd kill him if I had the chance."

"_They'll catch him, Alfred. Because of who Arthur is, you know the police are going to make this a priority. Plus, some of the wealthiest kids in the world go to World Academy, and they have some pretty influential parents. They aren't going to want a crazy rapist threatening their kids. I've already heard rumors the campus might not re-open after Christmas." _

"Arthur needs to stay in England. I won't let him come back to the states," Alfred insisted.

"_He came back once already. What if you can't stop him?" _Matthew asked.

"Then…I won't let him out of my sight. I promised him I wouldn't let him get hurt by this asshole again and I've already let him down. I _won't_ break my promise again!"

_"I think, as hard as it's going to be, you can't do that, Alfred. You can't follow him like that."_

"I know...fuck. I know," Alfred trailed off unappily. He knew he was helpless. He knew that perfectly well.

* * *

><p>Neither the Jones family nor the Kirkland family celebrated Christmas that year. For the Joneses, so much was going on with the press and the legal battle that it consumed all of the couple's time. Alfred did pay a brief visit to Ivan, but that was the extent of his holiday. Thankfully, the police ruled him out as a suspect the day after Christmas, so that at least was some good news.<p>

The bad news was that they didn't have much else to go on, so the investigation turned to Ivan. Arthur himself, however, butted in at that point and insisted Ivan was not his attacker. He knew Ivan, and he knew the size of his attacker, and he concluded with unwavering certainty that they were not the same. Alfred appreciated Arthur doing that for Ivan, but he'd been a little hurt that no defense had come for himself.

In a rather strange moment of sympathy and understanding, his mother finally made some time to check in with him. She sat across from him on his bed the day before school was re-opening.

"You know you don't have to go back, right?"

"I know. But if Arthur comes back then I have to be there…even if he hates me."

"So…what's the real story behind this hallway sit-in everyone is talking about now?" Helen asked. Alfred sighed.

"It was Francis's idea. Whenever I don't know what to do to get Arthur to forgive me, Francis gives me ideas. Arthur dumped me officially when he got back, so I went to Francis. Francis told me I should sit in the hallway every evening and, as the weeks went by, move closer and closer to Arthur's door."

"That's…a little creepy, Alfred."

"It was _supposed_ to be romantic. I _did_ feel a little weird about it…especially when it only seemed to make Arthur angrier at me…but everyone else was so positive about it. Michelle and Francis turned it into this big rape victim awareness thing, and it all kind of blew up in my face. Arthur got really mad when they started making T-shirts—I _knew_ he was going to—and he beat me up in the hallway."

"I see. So why all the waiting in the hallway, Alfred? The boy was already being stalked. How was that supposed to help?" Helen didn't sound accusatory, merely curious. Alfred swallowed thickly. He hadn't really thought about it like that.

"It was supposed to be a show of patience, and sacrifice. If Arthur wasn't going to enjoy being a teenager anymore, then I wanted to show him that I wouldn't enjoy it either. If he didn't want me near him, then I'd give him space and wait. That part sounded like a good idea…until the T-shirts and the media and the popularity of it all pissed Arthur off."

"He _is_ a rather private boy most of the time…exhibitionist piercings aside."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed.

"Has he talked to you since?" Helen asked. Alfred glumly shook his head.

"He stood up for Ivan, though. I guess he might have done that more for Yao's sake than for mine."

"I'm sorry about all this, Alfred. It's not easy growing up in the spotlight of fame. Your father and I both wish that we hadn't put you in this position. It's too much pressure. Being a teenager is hard enough already without all of this going on."

"Thanks, mom. Just thanks. You've never said anything like that before."

"You know we love you, right? Gay or straight, criminal record and all…we _do_ love you."

"I know. I love you guys, too."

They sat quietly together on the bed for a few moments before Helen smoothed out the blanket a bit in front of her lap and then flashed Alfred a sad smile.

"I know you think you've haven't protected Arthur, but I think that what you're doing is very brave. Sitting in the hallway, whether you meant it or not, sends a very strong message to whoever is stalking Arthur. It says you're not afraid of him. I think that's why, maybe, he made that video focus on you, too."

"You…really think so?"

"I do. In fact, I think this hallway idea could be a really big way to strike back at this guy. Rapists don't want attention. They want their victims to feel shamed into silence. I think that's how Arthur feels, probably even more so after everyone has seen the video…but I think it's important you stay strong and keep sending the message that you believe Arthur can heal and get past all this."

"I don't know what else I _can_ do," Alfred said. Helen smiled and fondly tucked some of Alfred's hair behind his ear.

"Just follow your heart. I don't know where you got such a good one from, but you _are_ good, Alfred. Better than you know. What time do you start this sit-in of yours?" Helen asked briskly, breaking the sweet spell cast by her earlier words.

"Um…usually around six till nine."

"Then tomorrow, when you go back, I'll be there with you. Your father, too. You protect Arthur…and we'll protect you."

* * *

><p>Arthur <em>did<em> return to campus. The paparazzi stalked him like sharks circling a wounded swimmer, but Arthur came back. He didn't cry, or act embarrassed, or talk about his feelings to anyone who asked. He was perfectly calm, perfectly stoic, and totally iron-willed.

There was a camera crew in the hallway that first evening, because it was not every day that the President and the First Lady visited the campus to sit in a hallway and lend their political clout behind a school cause. Michelle was ecstatic. Francis was ruthlessly pleased. In all the students' minds, the hallway sit-in became a way to express their outrage over what had been done to Arthur. The First Lady even wore the T-shirt.

Ignoring all the fanfare, all the extra students crowding about in the hallway, Alfred quietly took his spot (now on the fifth mark of tape) and waited quietly for whatever Arthur's reaction might be.

When Arthur returned from dinner, Mike offered him apologies.

"I should have thought to check the room for cameras," Mike said. Arthur sighed, glancing down the hall at the sight of all his friends, Alfred's parents, and Alfred himself…right where he'd left him before break.

"It doesn't matter, Mike," Arthur said lowly. He unlocked his door quietly, ignoring the cameras trained on him, and silently went inside his room.

Helen gave Alfred's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she went to go make a statement about how their family would do all they could to raise awareness for victims of rape both at World Academy and on a bigger scale.

"This has been a horrible experience for my son and for our family. The stress has changed Alfred, and as his parents, we're dealing with the bumps in the road as best we can. We want only for him to be happy. We want his school to be safe place for both our son and every other child here. We want Arthur to know that we think he's very brave for confronting this, and that he does not have to do so alone. Sometimes we can't ask for help, but we need it all the same."

The camera crew moved on then to interview Michelle, who spoke honestly and calmly about her experience, and how it had broken her down when she was already in a pretty bad place. Alfred listened to them all and felt glad that they were doing what they needed to do, but in his heart, he just wanted to hold Arthur again. It killed him inside that more than just a hallway stretched between them now. While everyone around him talked, while the whole world watched, Alfred just missed holding Arthur's hand as he sat tiredly in the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The night is darkest before the dawn, and all that jazz. Thanks for reading, as always! I wanted to offer one note of explanation, for those of you who might be wondering why the focus is mostly on Alfred. It's for the simple reason that I've never been raped. I can research what victims have said it feels like, and I've tried to show glimpses of what Michelle and Arthur are going through based on that research, but the bulk of my experience with this topic comes from having been in Alfred's shoes. I don't know what it's like to be raped, but I _do_ know what it's like to see a loved one go through that. I know what it's like to be a confidant, and to be that person's one supporter even when you don't quite know how to possibly offer that support. Sometimes, you don't do it perfectly, but I've learned at the end of the day that it's just about being there. Waiting. Giving your friend the patience to listen when they want to talk, and be there in other ways when they don't. It's not easy, and it makes you feel pretty damn helpless, but it's all you can do sometimes. So, that's why the story is mainly following Alfred. I hoped it would be more realistic and genuine due to having a foundation under it of personal experience.


	26. Baby Steps

Chapter 26

Arthur found Alfred on the first Wednesday morning back at school. He managed to catch him as he exited his art class, smiling at Feliciano as the bubbly brunet chatted his ear off. Arthur caught Alfred's eye and then nodded his head down the hallway.

"That sounds like fun, Feliciano. Hey, I gotta talk to ya later. Bye!" Alfred waved at the other boy and left him mid-sentence. He followed after Arthur as best he could, almost losing sight of him a few times as he was constantly stopped by people who wanted to talk about the Hallway Project.

"Yeah, you should come. Everyone's welcome!" Alfred said, for what felt like the 100th time. The students were finally beginning to thin out as they'd climbed to the fourth floor of the building, which was mostly where extra desks and old technology equipment were stored.

"Arthur?" Alfred called out, side stepping a busted computer and peeking into a darkened storage room. There wasn't much light and even though it was bright outside, the hallway was darkened by shadows. Alfred saw a few cobwebs hanging in corners and draped over old projectors and shivered a bit.

"I'm in here," Arthur's voice said flatly from up ahead. Steeling himself, Alfred clenched his backpack a little tighter and moved towards Arthur's voice. When he entered the abandoned classroom, he was a little surprised. It looked well cleaned and tended for, as if Arthur had been spending quite a bit of his time in the empty room. Alfred immediately wanted to lecture him for isolating himself in a part of the school not many people visited, but he bit his tongue at the last minute. If Arthur was finally willing to talk to him again, he wasn't going to ruin it by making him mad.

"It's good to see you, Arthur. You know, not at the end of the hallway, but…yeah," Alfred trailed off awkwardly. Arthur was staring at him so coldly that it was almost impossible to meet the other boy's eyes.

Finally, Arthur sighed and turned away, moving to the window. He stood there, overlooking the campus and seemingly lost in thought. Having learned quite a bit about patience lately, Alfred put his bag down and eased himself onto the top of a desk.

"I'd like you to stop," Arthur said quietly. Alfred frowned. Was this some sort of test? Or had Francis's plan worked? Was Arthur ready to let people in again?

"Stop waiting for you?" Alfred asked softly, "Because I can't. I can get out of the hallway if that's what's bothering you, but I won't ever stop waiting for you."

"Is this even about me anymore? Why are you _really_ doing this, Alfred? You're sixteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. Is all this just some sort of publicity stunt to you and your family?"

"Arthur, you have your whole life, too! And I want to share that life with you!" Alfred forced himself to stop shouting, as he could see that Arthur was flinching away from his loud tone. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was too loud, too clumsy, and too aggressive for Arthur after what had happened to him. For the first time, Alfred wondered if maybe he was not truly what Arthur needed.

He felt tears threaten, but he held them carefully in check. He needed to stay calm and strong…for Arthur. Gently, he picked up his bag and pulled a little box out. It was small, wrapped rather awkwardly in holiday print paper.

"I got you this for Christmas," Alfred said.

"I don't want anything from you, Jones," Arthur said stonily. "I just want you to leave me alone."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Open it or not, I don't care. And I know you want me to just disappear of the face of the planet, but I can't do that either."

"I just don't want you taunting him! Can't you see you're making him angry? I know you must have seen the video. I can't stop watching it. I can't stop hearing _your_ name. He released it to punish me for what _you're_ doing! How is that fair to me? Have you read the comments on the video? People saying things like _I'd rape him_ or _No wonder Jones doesn't want to let his sweet little ass go._"

"Arthur…you can't…you shouldn't read that stuff," Alfred said helplessly.

"WHY NOT? It's about me, isn't it? They want me to read it, otherwise they wouldn't have posted it!

"It's just stupid dicks on the internet trolling, Arthur! They think they're being funny because we aren't _real_ people to them. We're just celebrities—popular, wealthy, good looking people for the ugly little failures of the world to vent their frustrations on. You _know_ that."

"I don't know anything anymore. All I know is that you made it worse. Mike and Lane have said they won't let you stay in the hallway anymore. Your project is over, whether you like it or not."

"Fine! I'll call the whole thing off! But then you have to tell me what to do. You have to tell me what I can do to make this better for you."

"Don't you get it? You can't!"

"Then I'm staying in the hallway. Everyone else thinks it will work except you, and I don't exactly trust your judgment right now."

"You're being an ass, Alfred Jones!"

"Takes one to know one," Alfred spat back. Arthur's eyes lit with fury and he crossed the room, clearly planning on lashing out with his fists again. Instead, Alfred scooped up the little Christmas present and pushed it into Alfred's chest.

"I'm not letting you hit me again. I'm getting really pissed, so I'm going to leave. You actually accused me of putting those videos of you on the internet, and that really, really _hurt_. You've beaten me up, you've screamed at me, you've dumped me, but through _all_ of that…I still love you. I always will. Us fighting doesn't change that. I'll be in the hallway tonight—_alone—_at six. I'd really like it if you'd sit outside a bit."

"Don't count on it!" Arthur spat back, but it was weak at best. He still held the little box against his chest, and he was horrified to feel tears slipping down his cheeks just as soon as Alfred left him.

Why did it hurt so much to know that Alfred was hurting, too? Alfred's most intimate moments weren't currently being downloaded by perverts all over the world. Alfred wasn't the one afraid to sleep each night, crippled with fear of being touched. With all the things he had to worry about, why was he so concerned about Alfred's hurt feelings?

Feeling horrible, Arthur dropped into a nearby desk chair and stared blankly at the box in his hands. Slowly, gently, he peeled off the paper and saw what looked like a large jewelry box. Was it some piece of sentimental jewelry? Promise rings or a necklace or a bracelet with something cheesy engraved inside?

Arthur opened the box slowly and stared, uncomprehending, at the contents of the box for at least a full minute. Then, when realization finally clicked, he began to smile.

* * *

><p>It took Alfred all the spare time he had between classes to get the word out that nobody was to be in the hallway that afternoon, for Arthur's sake. Some, like Michelle, took a lot of convincing, but others saw Alfred's urgency and easily agreed to give them some space.<p>

By the time six rolled around, the hall was completely empty save for Alfred, sitting in his spot as regularly as clockwork.

Mike cleared his throat and casually dropped a hand onto his baton. He began walking down the hallway, his polished black shoes clacking against the tile.

Alfred looked up at him, his blue eyes steely with determination. Mike stopped about five feet away or so.

"Look kid, I admire what you're doing, but you don't hear him in there. Some nights he just cries for hours. Are you _sure_ you're going about this the right way?"

"No, I'm not," Alfred replied flatly.

"Maybe tonight, just for tonight, you could give him a rest? Everyone else seems to have cleared off."

"I'm fine where I am, thanks."

"Alright, maybe you're not understanding. I'm responsible for school security, and I'm afraid this has become a case of bullying—" Mike began. But he was interrupted.

"Mike, wait. It's okay." It was Arthur. He'd come from the cafeteria and he had two meal trays instead of just one. Shrugging easily, Mike returned to his station and Arthur replaced him. Almost shyly, he offered Alfred the food tray.

"Thanks," Alfred said. His blue eyes caught on something hanging about mid-chest on Arthur and he smiled softly. "Do you like it?"

Arthur eased himself down about three feet away from Alfred with his tray. Once he was sitting, he tenderly touched the shiny whistle hanging around his neck on a fine, silvery chain.

"It was very thoughtful, Alfred. I'm afraid I didn't get you anything," Arthur said. Alfred began to eat the hot food, enjoying having a meal that wasn't cold and smashed up in his backpack for once.

"We can count this dinner, okay? Man, I've missed cafeteria food. Never thought I'd say that!"

"Yes, well, it's your own fault you're missing dinner. You'll get no sympathy from me," Arthur fussed. They began eating in silence, and it wasn't an entirely comfortable silence. Too much had happened between them lately.

"So...err...how is your family holding up?" Alfred asked.

"Christmas was rather miserable. I've put them through so much since all of this started. My mum is terrified. She wants me home," Arthur said slowly.

"I want you home, too," Alfred agreed.

"Ah, but then you wouldn't have anyone here to wait for in the hallway," Arthur joked dryly. Alfred smiled.

"I'd wait in your hallway at home. You have really long hallways at home,too."

"My parents wouldn't let you."

"Your parents love me," Alfred insisted. Arthur had to grin a bit at that.

"Yes, I suppose they do. I was surprised to see _your_ parents in the hallway on Monday."

"They're warming up to you—realizing I'm not letting you go, I guess. They're scared, too, I think. My mom makes me text her like every hour now, and if I don't she said she's coming to find me."

Arthur grinned into his cup of tea. "My mum made it thirty minutes."

"How are your classes going?" Alfred asked. He only had Arthur for science. Though they shared many teachers and subjects, Arthur's classes were becoming more advanced and their electives were different.

"Like shite. I have two Cs."

"Yeah…pretty sure I failed all my mid-terms."

"Alfred!"

"I know, I know…I just can't focus," Alfred defended. Arthur sighed, and set his empty tray nearby.

"I know the feeling."

"This year has really sucked, hasn't it? Is it us? Are we cursed or something?" Alfred mused. He set aside his own finished tray, and stared at the opposite wall a bit glumly.

"I used to think I was the luckiest person in the world," Arthur said. He pulled his knees up tightly against his chest and curled his arms around them. Then he lay his head down on his knees so that he was staring at Alfred's profile. He seemed very young, curled up like that. Naturally, Alfred just wanted to hold him, or cuddle up next to him, but he knew Arthur had left the three feet of space between them for a reason.

"So…I'm unpopular again. Did you hear?"

"No, you've seemed plenty popular to me…not that I've been watching."

"It was befriending Tony after you left. Lots of the people I _thought _were my friends turned on me pretty damn quick. Tony's cool, though, you know? We like the same stuff. He's really great with technology."

"I can't say that I care much for his company," Arthur replied with a hint of amusement coloring his tone. Alfred snickered.

"It's really weird how he freaks out on you…but kinda funny. Sorry! I mean…what the hell is a limey? Who calls someone that? I had to look it up. It's slang from, like, the 1880s. I mean, where does he find that kinda crap?"

"Forgive me if I don't see the humor."

"Yeah, well, I mean…he can't really help it. He doesn't mean any harm by it."

Arthur sighed, and rolled his head up off his knees. "Is there ever a time you _don't_ see the best in people, Alfred?"

"When I think about whoever did this to you. I'd kill him with my bare hands if I could. I don't care if he's mentally ill."

Arthur was quiet for a long time and then he nodded once.

"I'm hoping to get the opportunity," Arthur said stonily. Alfred hazarded a shy glance at Arthur.

"You've been really, really brave Arthur. Everyone says so."

"Do they?" Arthur said mildly, as if he didn't really give a fuck what everyone was saying. Alfred shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"I miss you. That's the biggest reason I'm out here. I just miss you. Not the old you, or how it used to be. I just miss _you_. At least, out here, I feel like we're still close in a way. Please don't make me leave. I will if that's what you _really_ want…but please…please let me stay."

Alfred was crying, and it nearly broke Arthur's heart. A flood of emotion for the other boy that he'd been trying so hard to keep in check exploded in his chest, like a damn breaking and all the water rushing out. He _loved_ Alfred, and he missed him, too, and it hurt him that Alfred was hurting. He felt his own tears come.

He couldn't look at him, but he blindly reached his arm out and patted his way down Alfred's bicep, feather-light touches, until he found Alfred's hand. Gently, but just as eagerly, Alfred's hand curled around Arthur's own. They settled with them somewhere in the middle between those three feet, innocently intertwined.

"You can wait for me. I c-can't understand w-why you'd want to, but you can wait."

Alfred's hand squeezed his firmly, just once.

"I've been thinking about what we talked about last year. You think I could get into a college in England?"

That simple question made Arthur break. He squeezed Alfred's hand hard and cried just as harshly into his knees. After he calmed down, he disentangled their hands. Alfred stood, wanting to follow him, but even he could tell Arthur was not ready yet. Arthur hesitated, as if unsure about what to do. Alfred could see him at war with himself.

Alfred smiled, watery eyes and all.

"Well, go on. Try to get some studying done. I can't leave my spot, remember?"

"You're perfectly ridiculous, Jones. All the same…you'll be out here? For another few hours? It's just…I'd like to try and get some sleep. I haven't been sleeping well at all, but if you really promise you'll keep an eye on my door…"

"Forget the three hours. I'll stay out here until you wake up from your nap, okay?"

"It'll be just a quick one. I won't make you sit out here all night."

"Arthur, do you have any idea how glad I feel to finally be useful? Sleep for days if you want. I won't move an inch."

For a second, Alfred thought Arthur might hug him, or kiss him, but the other boy simply nodded in weariness and disappeared down the darkening hall. Four and half hours later, Mike stood up and stretched.

"I'm going to grab some coffee. Want a cup?" he asked. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Alfred agreed. Mike returned and passed him the hot beverage. He then returned to his station.

Alfred took a sip of the hot liquid and felt eternally grateful. He hesitated a moment, but then he figured the three hours were up anyway. He got up off his spot and walked down the hallway, until he was beside Mike at his desk.

"So…somebody's here 24/7?" Alfred asked. Mike continued clicking around on his computer. A quick peak revealed he was playing Solitaire.

"Yeah. My shift ends in about twenty minutes. Franklin covers the night shift. He's here from eleven till eight. Lane works the desk from eight till four. So, you're not sneaking in, no matter how long you wait out here."

"I _wasn't_ going to sneak in," Alfred insisted.

"Yeah, yeah, I believe you. Relax, kid."

"So…Franklin? I don't think I've seen him before."

"What is this? Playing detective now? The police did a far better job of that. I was looking forward to this past Christmas break, ya know. Spent over half of it in the police station."

"I did, too. How else are they going to catch whoever's doing this?" Alfred said a little indignantly.

"I think it's you. Haven't taken my eye off you since all this mess started."

Alfred was a little shocked by the easy accusation, from someone who'd just given him coffee no less.

"It's _not_ me! I was in California, and I _love_ Arthur, and I would _never_—"

"Jeez, would you keep it down? The kid's trying to sleep in there. He never sleeps. I don't know what you said to him, but it must have worked."

"I'm _not_ trying to hurt Arthur."

"Yeah, well, I'm still not letting you into his room. Franklin won't either. Might as well get some sleep yourself."

"I'm keeping a look out. Arthur asked me," Alfred said proudly.

"Alright, lookout, can you drink your coffee over there then? I like my peace and quiet at night."

His feelings a little hurt, Arthur moved until he was sitting across from Arthur's door. He drank the coffee to the last sip, but he was getting sleepy all the same. His eyelids began to droop and his head kept slipping forward before he'd shake himself awake. Mike's shift ended and he left the desk to Franklin, who instantly set Alfred on edge.

He was a tall, broad shouldered black guy with a graveled voice and a prominent scar on his right cheek. He merely cocked an eyebrow at Alfred as he took his seat in the chair.

"Just forget him. Well, I mean, _watch_ him, but the kid asked him to stay out here."

Franklin didn't say anything to that. He just stared at Alfred hard for a few moments and then grunted to indicate he'd heard.

"See ya later, Frank. Later kid," Mike said. He tossed his empty coffee cup and was gone.

Alfred stared at Franklin, and Franklin stared at Alfred.

"The police cleared me…just like they cleared you," Franklin settled on saying.

"Yeah, well people make mistakes," Alfred replied. He was trying to be brave, he really was, but Franklin kind of scared the crap out of him. The door to Arthur's room opened. Arthur peeked out into the hallway sheepishly, his hair sleep-mused.

"You really stayed. I'm sorry I slept so long. You can go to bed now, Alfred. I appreciate it, really I do."

"You're going to stay up now? Do some homework?"

"Err, that's what I was planning…"

"Then can I study with you?" Alfred asked. Arthur looked at him confusedly, seeing as it was obvious Alfred was seconds away from passing out cold. Arthur shared an uneasy glance with Franklin.

"You just leave the door cracked. I'll come if you need me."

"Okay…I don't suppose it would hurt…"

Gratefully, Alfred crossed the hallway in a flash and was closing the door behind him. The quickness of his movements alarmed Arthur until he saw what Alfred was up to. Alfred did leave the door slightly cracked, but he quickly stole a pillow and a spare blanket from Arthur's bed and tossed both to the floor in front of the door.

"Alfred, what are you doing?" Arthur asked, but his question fell on deaf ears. Alfred was already down for the count, snoring softly before his head even hit the pillow. He'd always been able to fall asleep quickly, Arthur remembered fondly.

"Alright in there?" Franklin's deep voice asked quietly. Arthur took one look at Alfred curled up in front of his door, literally making it so that he'd be hit in the face if anyone tried to open it, and gave a soft smile.

"He fell asleep, in front of the door."

Arthur could hear Franklin's smile even if he couldn't see it.

Arthur opened his text book at his desk and began to do some homework, glancing every so often at his over-eager visitor. With Alfred Jones, it seemed, if you gave an inch, he took a mile. Strangely enough, Arthur wasn't as freaked out by that as he might have been just a month before. With the whistle around his neck, and Alfred's tall, muscular body draped in front of the door, limbs sprawled everywhere and a little drool escaping his mouth, Arthur finally felt a little safe again. He finished up the very bare minimum and decided to return to bed.

He slept well until almost four. That was when the usual nightmares began. This time, however, someone was shaking him awake for the first time since he'd left home. For a moment, Arthur was in pure panic mode. He struggled to find the whistle, or call out for Franklin, or do _something,_ but his vocal chords failed him.

"Sshhh, Arthur, it's just me. It's Alfred."

"Get off me!" he finally managed to say. In a second, the door was bursting open and Alfred was backing warily away from the bed. Franklin loomed in the doorway, a threat obvious in his eyes.

"He was having a nightmare. I was just waking him up," Alfred explained. He rubbed a tired hand over his face, dislodging his glasses.

"Please make him go. I just want to be alone," Arthur said, still hyperventilating.

"Get outta here kid. Now," Franklin growled. Alfred hesitated, looking between Franklin and Arthur, clearly hurt that Arthur would trust Franklin over himself.

"Okay, I'm going. I'm going."

Alfred left the bedroom and walked down the hallway. He dropped onto his spot like it was second nature, and by that point, it practically was.

How had everything gotten so fucked up? Alfred sat there for a few minutes, until Franklin returned to his spot and he heard Arthur lock his door from the inside. Disgusted with the whole situation, Alfred returned to his dorm too angry to sleep well.

* * *

><p>When Alfred woke up, Tony was staring at him unblinkingly.<p>

"Jesus! Tony! Don't do that!" Alfred said. Tony moved back to give him some space, but he still kept staring, almost accusingly.

"You were out very late last night."

"Yeah…Arthur wanted me to keep watch. I slept a bit in his room."

"Why hasn't he gotten over it yet? It has been almost two months, yes?" Tony asked. Alfred could tell his friend was genuinely confused, but Alfred just wasn't in the mood to humor him. Not after the night he'd had.

"Because _normal_ people get fucked up when bad shit happens to them. Arthur is human—you should try it sometime."

"I am human," Tony replied, in a neutral, though slightly confused tone. "Or are you implying I do not have the capacity to feel emotions?"

"Ugh, _whatever _Tony. I'm not implying anything. I just need to piss."

"Why are you not sleeping in your night clothes?"

"Tony, I _just_ explained I spent all night in the hall, trying to keep a look out so Arthur could sleep. Until apparently _Franklin_ came along because, you know, I'm just the ex-boyfriend that's been by his side for a year and a half. Clearly not as trustworthy as _Franklin_, random creepy night guard with mysterious scars."

"You are in a highly illogical mood this morning," Tony said lightly.

"Yeah. Illogical. That's it."

"Franklin is a guard, is he not? So naturally, he would be a better guard than you. Stronger, older, more experienced in personal defense—"

"Not helping, Tony! _Not_ helping," Alfred said as he did his business in the bathroom. A quick glance at the clock revealed to Alfred that he was running late for classes. Tony kept asking him odd, nagging questions until Alfred finally just slammed the bathroom door and retreated to the shower. It wasn't much of a retreat. As soon as he emerged (stubbing his toe, on top of everything else) Tony was still waiting.

"We reached an agreement that you would visit with Arthur every night for three hours, but at 9:10 we would play—"

"TONY. _Stop_! Just…give me a break, okay? I just need some space!"

Tony took a step backwards and resumed speaking. "You did not show up at 9:10 for our agreed upon time. I waited for two hours. It threw off my entire nightly schedule and it made me very upset."

Alfred smacked his palm dully against his face. Had his sophomore year of high school really come to this? Sharing a room with a total space case, his relationship in shambles, his grades down the crapper, _still_ completely clueless about whether he was a jock or a nerd or where the fuck he fit in. And his toe really hurt.

"UGH! FUCK IT!" Alfred picked up his pillow and chunked it as hard as he could. It went flying towards the wall of Tony's action figures and models. Naturally, the shelves collapsed and the models broke apart in an explosion of plastic and lego parts as quite a few of them impacted with the ground.

For a single moment, Tony was deathly still. Then, he began to cry. Big, fat tears that dripped off his face in twin rivers. He started screaming—a high-pitched, ear piercing scream that made someone jerk their door open to find Alfred in his towel and Tony screaming and, of course, Alfred had to spot Arthur joining in with the curious crowd of onlookers outside their door.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Alfred half-shouted in his own defense, but a few guys were snapping pictures on their phones and Alfred knew this would be on the news. It was Francis that stepped in. He slipped inside (followed at the last second by Arthur) and shut the door behind him. Alfred, unable to take it anymore, went into the walk-in closet and slammed the door. They heard his back thump heavily against it on the other side. Francis and Arthur exchanged a look before Francis picked up the pillow from the ground.

"Is this what you're screaming about?" he asked. Tony moved to his bed and sat on the edge, rocking back and forth in an agitated manner as he stared at the destroyed toys. His cries turned into a pitiful moaning noise, and Arthur hesitated a second before he left the room quickly, without explanation.

Francis cursed under his breath and was about to call for Matthew when only a few moments later, Arthur returned. He held a strange looking little stuffed animal in his arms—a bright, mint-green bunny with wings of all things.

"Here you go," Arthur said, offering it to Tony. Tony eyed the bunny expressionlessly before he snatched it suddenly and chunked it at Arthur with all the strength he could muster.

Francis broke out into snickers. Alfred must have finally calmed down, because he emerged from the closet with some pants and a shirt on. He eyed the odd stuffed animal for a moment before dismissing it with a shake of his head. He moved to the bed and knelt down in front of Tony, who eyed him furiously.

"I'm really sorry I broke them. That was a dick move. I was just angry. I shouldn't have thrown the pillow. We'll put them back together right now, okay?"

"You _hurt_ me!"

"I know, and I'm _sorry_. I know the models mean a lot to you."

"We have to fix them _right_ now."

"Okay, right now. I promise." Alfred's blue eyes turned to the mess of plastic and shelving and he sighed forlornly. Francis and Arthur exchanged another glance.

"You have classes, Alfred. You're already behind," Arthur said quietly.

"GO AWAY FUCKING LIMEY!" Tony screamed, hurtling off the bed and launching a rather pathetic attack at Arthur by throwing pillows and bedding at him, and the flying mint bunny, too, when he got his hands on it.

"Easy! Do you _want_ him to fail his classes? Stop throwing things at me!" Arthur said. Tony glared at Arthur, breathing hard. The stare-off was broken when Arthur moved forward to grab the toy he'd brought.

Tony darted forward, snatching up the toy and retreating to the corner of the room. He clutched the stuffed bunny fiercely and pulled a nearby nightstand in front of himself, as if to prevent Arthur from getting to him. He then proceeded to rip off one of the bunny's wings.

"It's MINE. You gave it to me and you can't have it back! I can hurt him all I want!"

"Oh for the love of—" Arthur said peevishly.

"Perhaps it is best you go, Arthur. You only seem to be upsetting him more," Francis muttered.

The only sound was the ripping of fabric and a small storm of stuffing being tossed vindictively about in the corner of the room. Alfred just had to laugh at how ridiculous it all was.

"Go on, you two. We'll be fine. We'll fix up the models and…well…I don't know about your bunny, Arthur. It was a nice gesture, though."

"DIE! IHATE YOU!" Tony screeched, and more stuffing flew about.

"Are you _sure_ you are okay? I can help…" Francis offered weakly.

"It's fine. Legos are totally my thing. Tony and I have got this, right Tony? It'll make up for how crappy of a friend I've been lately, huh? A whole day of just you and me, hanging out and fixing the models. Okay, buddy?"

The de-stuffed corpse of Flying Mint Bunny came sailing across the room and smacked Arthur in the face harmlessly. He threw it back just as peevishly.

"**No **Limey!"

"He's leaving, right Limey? Arthur! I mean, you're leaving, right Arthur?" Alfred said, correcting himself sheepishly with an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh, I'm leaving alright. I only came in the first place to apologize for my behavior last night. It won't happen again."

"Screwed up my chance. Got it. Anything else?" Alfred asked, with unusual sarcasm. Arthur and Francis exchanged another glance but Arthur quickly scowled at Alfred.

"No. Nothing else." He turned towards Tony and added, "Though that was the last time I'll try to be nice to such a rude, little punk! You have _no_ manners!"

"FUCKING LIMEY! FUCKING LIMEY! FUCKING LIMEY!"

"I'm leaving now!" Arthur stormed out rather angrily, shutting the door. Alfred chuckled and retrieved the fallen mint bunny.

"I think they'll warm up to each other eventually, yeah?" Alfred asked naively. Francis just sighed at Alfred's oblivious optimism and took his leave.

"Just…try to stay out of trouble today, okay? Give Arthur time to cool off."

"Maybe _he_ should be the one giving _me_ time to cool off," Alfred muttered petulantly. Francis shot him a disapproving look, and Alfred felt a little cowed. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry I said it. I'm allowed to get frustrated, aren't I? All of this is just really hard!"

"God knows Arthur does not make it easy, but you cannot give up on him."

"I know."

Finally, Francis left and it was just the two of them. Sadly, Alfred dropped to the floor and began trying to separate little silver Millennium Falcon parts from little silver Star Fighter parts. After a moment or two, Tony joined him in tediously sorting. It was really Tony that did it; it became readily apparent Alfred had no clue what he was doing.

"That wasn't cool of you, Tony."

"I am not speaking to you. I am very angry."

"Okay. But can I talk to you?"

"Acceptable."

"Arthur was just trying to make you feel better. You ripped up his toy just like I messed up yours. That didn't make you feel very good, right?"

"I am not a child. I understand what you are trying to say about equivalent actions resulting in similar emotional consequences," Tony said…despite not talking to Alfred.

"Uh…right. So, think we can fix up Flying Mint Bunny while we're at it? You and Arthur both mean a lot to me. I'd like it if you could get along with each other."

"Impossible."

"Wha-huh? Why?"

"He says his words in a strange way and I don't like it. In addition, you clearly like him more than anyone else."

"Aww, Tony…don't be like that. Arthur can't help how he talks. And…he _is_ special to me…but he doesn't like me very much right now anyway."

"I don't like him!" Tony insisted. Alfred sighed, but decided to drop the issue. Enough had already happened that morning without trying to bring about peace between Arthur and Tony.

"We will repair his gift. But it is still mine," Tony settled on saying. Alfred figured that was the best he was going to get.

* * *

><p>Mr. Allowick personally knocked on Alfred's dorm room door. Alfred opened it, glancing at his watch as he did so. He had twenty minutes before he needed to be in the hallway. He didn't know why he was going. He honestly didn't feel like seeing Arthur, but he supposed it <em>had<em> gotten bigger than just the two of them. Besides, if he didn't go, Michelle would just drag him out into the hallway anyway.

"Hey Mr. A. Come on in," Alfred said. Mr. Allowick entered, his eyes widening at the décor. Tony glared at him from behind his computer screen. Nearby sat a pretty pathetic attempt at repairing Flying Mint Bunny. Despite his harsh words and actions, Tony had kept the bunny close to him all day, and he'd made Alfred keep redoing the sloppy stitches until the bunny didn't look _quite_ so terrible.

"Nice place you've, uh…got here," Mr. Allowick trailed off lamely. Alfred waved him towards one of the sitting chairs and he plopped down on the edge of his bed. A few of his fingertips were bandaged from hot glue burns and sewing wounds.

"So…you skipped school today, both of you. That's not cool," Mr. Allowick began invitingly.

"Alfred destroyed the fleet. It had to be rebuilt," Tony stated flatly. Alfred gestured to the wall of models. They didn't look quite a neat as before, but they were back intact, at least.

"I got mad this morning. Threw a pillow. Spent eight hours rebuilding all the stuff I broke. Will never throw pillows again," Alfred summarized.

"I…see," Mr. Allowick stated dryly.

"Flying Mint Bunny also suffered heavy damage. Alfred did a shitty job fixing him. He is in considerable pain," Tony added, with a small glare at Alfred for emphasis.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't the one who ripped him up in the first place, now was I?" Alfred reasoned.

"Flying Mint Bunny and I have worked out our differences and let the past go. Maybe you should consider doing the same," Tony said unemotionally. Then, he gave Flying Mint Bunny a sweetly affectionate little pat before he continued typing furiously on his computer.

"Wow, as fun as this little visit to Bizarroland has been, we've got to talk seriously about your grades, Alfred."

"My midterm scores came back, huh?" Alfred asked despondently. Mr. Allowick, however, smiled and offered Alfred his report card for the first semester. He waited while Alfred opened it up and scanned his marks.

"I…I passed! I passed everything!"

"I thought some good news might be just what you needed to hear, considering all the other things I've been hearing," Mr. Allowick said with a smile.

"WOOHOO! I passed!" Alfred jumped up and down a few times, pumping his fist happily, and kissed his report card a few times.

"But you're barely hanging on in my class. You only passed by a single point, Alfred."

"But I passed!"

"Yeah, but we can do better than that, right?"

"Yes sir," Alfred replied, finally calming down slightly. Mr. Allowick smiled.

"As for _you_, Tony, you've been skipping class quite a bit. I know you think you know everything, but I really _can_ help you with your projects if you'll give me the chance."

"Unacceptable."

"Tony," Mr. Allowick said in a warning type of voice. From behind his desk, the pale, scrawny teen squinted his reddish-brown eyes in a weak glare. Tony's head was completely shaved, as he tended to pull out his hair in frustration when he got upset. He looked odd, no doubt about it, but Mr. Allowick seemed to like him all the same—despite his abrasive personality and his off-putting looks.

"So, I thought we could do some tutoring in the hallway tonight. For both of you."

"I will not sit in the hallway again. That will be interpreted as showing support for the fucking limey."

"Tony!" Mr. Allowick said. Alfred sighed.

"I don't really feel like going tonight, either, Tony, but sometimes we have to do things we don't feel like doing. Will you come keep me company again? It was really cool when you did it before. 'Cept this time, try _not_ to scream at Arthur, okay?"

"Fine," Tony hissed in annoyance. He snatched up Flying Mint Bunny and his advanced chemistry text book and stormed into the hallway. Alfred took his basic, general science book and followed behind. Mr. Allowick said a little prayer for patience and mental strength, and followed both of them.

It was a pretty good crowd, but most students cleared off upon seeing a teacher present. Even more left when Mr. Allowick began tutoring Alfred and Tony, right in the middle of the hallway, and telling students to shush or move along when they got rowdy or disruptive.

For the second night in a row, pretty soon the hallway was mostly empty except for the three of them. When Arthur came back from dinner, he came partially down the hallway before he sat and began to eat, idly listening in.

Alfred ignored him.

"So, that was that stuff we learned back in chapter eight, right?" Alfred asked, trying to complete the problems on his worksheet. Tony leaned over and sniffed haughtily.

"The answer is obvious. You suck at science worse than you suck at sewing."

"Thanks, Tony."

"You're welcome," Tony replied, completely serious. Mr. Allowick sighed, and massaged his temples for a few moments.

"Okay. Yes, we studied the foundation for this back in October—"

"When I was out of school, huh?"

"Yes."

"For a commercial I didn't even finish. Great," Alfred drawled unhappily. He flipped back to the earlier chapter and started to read, sullenly, clearly not absorbing much of it. Mr. Allowick sighed again and shifted his attention back to Tony's independent project.

"Just ask if you have any questions."

"I have a question. What the hell did you do to that poor bunny, Alfred?" Arthur asked casually.

Alfred scowled at him over the top of his text book. "I tried to help him. Should have known I'd screw it up, right?"

"You are rather hopeless at fixing all the problems you go about causing," Arthur replied rather snippily. Mr. Allowick shot Arthur a warning look.

"Be careful you're not saying things you'll regret later, Arthur. We all know you're upset, but you've been venting quite a bit of that on Alfred. He's trying to be a good friend, but he's not a punching bag."

That shut Arthur up. He finished his meal in silence, chewing his food almost violently. Alfred smirked victoriously as he pretended to read his chapter.

"Oh, bugger it. Give me that. I'll do a proper job of it." Arthur came down the hall and snatched up the pathetic looking bunny. He turned his scolding tone on Tony. "And before you even start that screaming business again, I'll bring her right back. It shouldn't take me long to patch her up properly. She was a Christmas gift from my brother, though, so I'd appreciate it if you'd kindly not treat her so poorly in the future."

"…Acceptable," Tony said. Alfred cleared his throat.

"Hey, Tony…remember what we talked about?" Tony shifted awkwardly and twisted his hands up together repetitively a few times before he forced the words out.

"Thank-you-for-the-gift," he said in a rush. Alfred flashed Tony a proud, small smile before returning to his text.

Arthur took on a slightly embarrassed look and held the bunny perhaps a bit more tightly than was necessary.

"I suppose I should thank you, too, Alfred. What you did last night was a kind gesture. It will simply not be necessary in the future. But it was not…unappreciated," Arthur finished, rather awkwardly. Alfred didn't look up. He just shook his head a bit and kept reading.

"Whatever, Arthur," he said just loudly enough to be heard.

"Why is it you lecture me about manners but then fail to show them yourself?" Tony asked in a monotone. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"It was no problem, Arthur. Anytime. Have a _fantastic_ evening."

"Anyone ever told you sarcasm doesn't suit you, kid?" Mr. Allowick said lightly. He then saw fit to put an end to all the tortured teenage angst.

"Go on, Arthur. Alfred needs to get caught up."

Arthur retreated to his room with Flying Mint Bunny, and at the end of the three hours, he returned with the stuffed toy in almost pristine condition. Mr. Allowick had long since left, but Tony and Alfred were still in the hall together. Tony's eyes lit up with delight and he snatched the toy back before remembering himself.

"You have superior sewing skills. When I have need of sewing in the future, I will go to you instead of Alfred."

"Gee, thanks Tony," Alfred said.

"Only if I have time. It's rather rude to just _presume_—"

"Oh, give it a rest, would you Arthur? He's trying to compliment you. Why do you have to be so…so…" Alfred snapped.

"So _what_?" Arthur invited. Alfred grit his teeth.

"So…damn…_loveable_," Alfred forced out, clearly wanting with everything he had to say something else instead. Tony blinked between the two of them, clearly confused.

"By my understanding of the word, Arthur's behavior is not loveable. He is acting like a prickly bastard."

"Yeah, he kinda is. But I love him anyway, and that just _pisses_ him off. He's trying really hard to push me away, but it's not going to work. Two more days, Arthur, and then I'm a step closer."

"Congratulations! You're nowhere close to my door! Good show, old boy," Arthur replied vindictively. Tony watched them argue for a few more moments, though Alfred wasn't saying anything mean—only nice things in a mean tone of voice—and Arthur was getting progressively snippier.

"SHUT UP! Flying Mint Bunny doesn't like it!" Tony yelled.

Both boys fell silent. They flashed each other sheepish looks.

"We _are_ being a bit silly. I'm…sorry. I'm just tired, all the time," Arthur admitted. Alfred frowned.

"Yeah. I'm pretty worn out myself."

"We should just take a break for a bit, hmm?" Arthur suggested weakly. Alfred nodded.

"That would probably be good."

"Goodnight then, to both of you," Arthur said a bit glumly.

"Goodnight, limey," Tony replied. Arthur started to reply but Alfred hastily cut in.

"Hey! At least you're not fucking anymore. Baby steps, right? Come on, Tony. Let's go to bed."

"Flying Mint Bunny will sleep with me," Tony insisted rather stubbornly. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a quick smile over Tony's head.

"Yeah, alright. No competition from me on that one," Alfred said. Quickly, before Arthur could snatch his hand back, Alfred grabbed it and brought it lightly to his lips. He pressed a chaste, innocent kiss against Arthur's knuckles, gave his hand a little squeeze, and then let him go.

Arthur stood for a bit longer in the hallway, trying to sort out his own feelings, before just deciding that for a few moments…he'd actually been happy, and that feeling that way was okay. Just for a little while, at least.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Yay! A decent length chapter! This was it guys. This WHOLE fic, from the very beginning, was working up to the TonyFlyingMintBunny pairing. They will now become the focus of the story. Teehehehe. No, of course not…but I just love Tony, and his adorable jealousy of Arthur. Too cute. We needed something a little happier, huh?


	27. A Snowy Night

**Chapter 27**

Matthew watched as Francis carefully edited another press statement about the Hallway Project. It had consume a great deal of his time lately, keeping the momentum going and now, his next idea, obtaining sponsorship for Alfred's quest to donate to charities that helped rape victims.

"That's a _lot_ of money. You really think people will step up?" Matthew asked, reading over Francis's shoulder. Matthew had been spending most of his time in Francis's room. It wasn't that he and Alex weren't friends anymore, but it was awkward now. Matthew still had feelings for Alex, but Alex was clearly falling in love with Michelle. The two of them were inseparable lately. As it had been with Francis, it was hard for Matthew to see Michelle with Alex and not feel like it was a personal attack against himself. Once he could brush off as coincidental…but twice? And after he'd reached out to her as a friend?

"I think people will give. This cause has become important to me. I can understand it now—Alfred's interest in this sort of work. It's tiring, but it feels good to be _doing_ something. After what Michelle went through, and all the others that have come forward since this began, too…I will tolerate many things, but not attacks against what should be an expression of true love."

"It's admirable work. I'm really proud of you, Francis," Matthew said with a soft smile. He rubbed Francis's shoulders and pressed a sweet kiss against Francis's cheek. Francis turned to smile up at his boyfriend.

"It _is_ good work…but it could wait awhile, no?"

"Just a little bit," Matthew said with a flirtatious smile.

"Now, now…nothing _little_ about it," Francis joked. Matthew grinned and wound his arms around Francis's shoulders. He'd grown over his sophomore year, though his older boyfriend was still just a little bit taller. The kissed slowly, comfortingly, aware of just how to tilt their mouths and how to move their tongues.

"Have I told you lately how grateful I am to have a second chance with you?" Francis whispered. Matthew smiled against Francis's collarbone and continued pressing his kisses at the skin he uncovered.

"I'm glad you're here. I know it's a mess with Alex, but I want you to know that—I'm happy to be with _you_."

Francis let his eyes flutter shut and he wrapped his arms around Matthew's slender hips, moving one hand upwards to tangle in the soft, gently curling strands.

Outside, the January stars twinkled over a canopy of gently falling snow. The two boys watched the snow drift down in front of the window and they kissed and shared body heat as the clothing came off piece by piece.

In some ways, it was new all over again. Matthew's body had new scars, from hockey, even from his fight with Francis, and from the emotional battles he'd fought with Alfred. Francis's heart was a lot heavier since the death of his father and everything he'd gone through earlier in the year with his mother. They were growing into young men, and changing as the months passed, but there was still the old familiarity of first love humming happily between each kiss and caress. Both new and improved, some might say. It was an oxymoron that Francis had scoffed at when learning English, but when trying to describe his relationship with Matthew, it did seem to fit perfectly.

Francis rolled on top of Matthew, chest to chest with his lover, smiling softly at him in the darkened room. He kissed over his cheeks, and the tip of his nose, and his soft, golden lashes. They switched to French as they always did during such times, whispering soft, gentle compliments and declarations of love.

Matthew met Francis's artful movements with newfound grace and strength. Francis's name spilled from Matthew's lips over and over again until they both reached bliss, and tangled up together afterwards in the sheets and the shadows cast from the falling snow at the window. Idly, Francis stroked Matthew's bare tummy and pressed kisses against his chilled shoulder.

"We are lucky to have this," Francis said quietly. He spoke French so beautifully that Matthew could have listened to him reading the phonebook and fallen into a trance.

"Yeah, we really are," Matthew agreed. They both thought separate thoughts about what was going on between their best friends, and how painful it must be to have the one, beautifully cathartic and pure connection lovers could have turned into something so painful and ugly. It was like murder. For Arthur, he might never be able to fully lower his guard again. He might never spend a night as they were doing, curled up so completely vulnerable and trustingly with someone separate, yet connected. It required so much trust and faith to truly make love, and yet that ability to trust and connect had been brutally damaged.

And for what? Someone's sick pleasure at the destruction of something beautiful?

It made Francis's heart hurt.

Across the room, the minute hand ticked to the first second of the new morning. Just a Friday, like any other.

"A new day," Matthew whispered. Francis smiled and kissed his jaw.

"A new day, and it's beautiful, here with you."

Matthew fell asleep watching the snow, with Francis's steady breath tickling over his skin.

* * *

><p>"Is he asleep yet?" Ivan asked in the quietest whisper he could manage. From where he was sitting against Ivan's side, Yao raised up slightly to peer into the toddler bed. Raivis slept…<em>finally<em>. His chubby hand was curled into a fist and pressed against his lips, plump and shaped perfectly, like an angel's bow. Yao thought everything about him was perfect. From his soft, downy blond curls to his tiny little feet and hands. Every inch of him was precious.

Juggling school and raising a family was an overwhelming task at times…_most_ of the time…but there were quiet moments, too. Quiet moments that made Yao feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He relaxed into Ivan's hold again, his dark eye lashes fluttering as he fought off sleep for just a few more moments.

"When will he be able to fall asleep on his own?" Ivan asked. He childish complaining, whispered so low that only Yao could hear, made his lover smile.

"He'll start sleeping alone when we're strong enough to ignore his crying." There was a long pause.

"Well fuck," Ivan said, and rather loudly at that.

"Shh!" Yao replied with a snort of amusement.

"I guess it is not so bad. I like watching him settle down. He doesn't _stop_ moving during the day, so it's nice to see him still for once," Ivan mused.

"He does look peaceful asleep, doesn't he?" Yao said with a gentle smile.

"Like you. Are you tired?" Ivan asked. Yao tried to stifle his yawn, but he simply couldn't. His head nuzzled up under Ivan's chin as his eyes began to drift shut…just for a moment…

The next thing he knew, like many nights before, he was being cradled in strong arms. He awoke enough to loop his arms around Ivan's neck, and sleepily press back against the kiss Ivan gave him.

"That's everyone down except you," Ivan said in that soft, husky whisper that went straight to Yao's manhood. "Time for bed."

Ivan carried him effortlessly through their home, to their spacious bedroom, where the big window let in the gorgeous sight of the early morning snowfall. If Yao had been more awake, it might have reminded him of another day he'd spent in the snow, and of a perpetually startled looking young boy at the end of an alley, gun in hand as he fell soundlessly, shot down with a bloody Russian smile.

But he was tired, and the hour was late, and this snow was not like _that_ snow. It fell so gently and peacefully, over their tidy little house, over their sleeping teenager and their slumbering toddler, over a fretful but good big sister, and a coarse but loveable uncle…and two young men who somehow kept all of those people together as a family of survivors. Those were Yao's thoughts.

Ivan thought of his family, too, as he took in the snow and the soft, inviting look of their bed. As always, the persistent, tiring worries of keeping them safe and well provided for rolled constantly in the back of his mind. Yet, at the same time, he knew in the quiet moments how much he loved them. They'd given him so much stability—his sanity, really. After all he had seen and done, to have a peaceful existence like he had was truly the best gift his father could have given him. It still made it hard to breathe sometimes when Ivan thought of everything he'd left behind him in Russia…his bloody legacy and his father's crumbled empire…but the one thing his father had taught him held true no matter where he was.

Family was the most important, the most precious wealth one could have. Lying down his beautiful little lover on their soft bed, knowing Yao was his in body, mind, and soul…it made Ivan feel like a very rich man.

"I'm not _so_ tired," Yao muttered, drinking in the sight of his strong partner in the starlight. Ivan's pale, muscular shoulders were bisected and criss-crossed with scars that made Yao ache to kiss them. His chest was like it was sculpted from marble, and lightly dusted with silvery blond hair that Yao knew was surprisingly soft pressed against his cheek. He reached out a pale, delicate hand and smiled sleepily as Ivan took it, pressing a rough kiss to the inside of his wrist. He pulled lightly on Yao's arm, tugging him up, as he straddled him and expertly undid his hair tie.

Yao's beautiful hair shined with the luster of black pearls. It slipped between Ivan's fingers like satin and pooled down his back. Ivan captured Yao's cheeks in his big, rough palms and tilted his face upwards, kissing him deep and passionately. When the kiss ended, in a swift movement, Ivan stripped Yao of his nightshirt. Yao fell into the soft, white pillow mountain behind him, his hair fluttering like a halo around his porcelain features.

Ivan kissed his mouth until his lips darkened, and sucked his neck until Yao's cheeks flushed. Ivan's hands slipped down lower, over his nipples and his slender grooves of rib, down to his hardening member. With a little maneuvering, one of Yao's slender legs hooked over Ivan's broad shoulder. After just the right amount of preparation, Ivan took him with surprising gentleness. It was a contradiction Yao loved—how harsh and needy his kisses were, followed by such sweet, patient lovemaking.

Of course, sometimes it was anything _but_ sweet and patient, but Yao enjoyed that just as much.

This was his favorite, though. It always would be. Ivan wore such beautiful expressions of love during their nightly coupling. No matter how many times they came together, it was never routine for Ivan. Each time, he looked at Yao like he'd never quite seen something so beautiful before. His unique lavender-blue eyes filled with so much warmth and adoration that it was as if Yao _felt_ his love.

It was not all that they were, the moments shared in their bed, but it was so good to have that time for just the two of them. Raising a toddler was not easy. It tested them and strained things in unpredictable and ever-creative ways, but times like _this_ strengthened them. It brought them together as lovers, as parents, as partners. Yao had often heard the women in his family complaining of being "too tired" or any other number of excuses to refuse their husbands…but Yao could not even imagine such a thing.

He pitied them—all those loveless marriages of status and wealth in the world. As Ivan finished, and Yao rode out his own moment of pleasure, he held Ivan close against himself and hoped that he would never grow _too tired_ for Ivan, or of their love. He wanted to spend every night just like this one, carried to bed and satisfied in every possible way by the one man he loved more and more each night.

* * *

><p>Alfred slipped out of bed and took care of his business in the restroom. He washed his hands and caught his own reflection in the yellowed bathroom light. When had he grown up so much? Sure, he'd noticed becoming taller, and broader, and more muscular depending on which sports season they were in…but when had he started looking like a <em>man<em>?

His hand traced wonderingly over the cut of his jaw. He still had chubby cheeks…probably always would…but there was his father's jaw under his hand. His mother's cheekbones and her brilliant blue eyes beneath the shaggy blond fringe. He touched the swell of muscle in his arms and felt the roughness of his hands. He thought of how tortured his body had made him feel over the years. Never good enough once upon a time, and then better than he knew how to handle. Everyone said they saw a good person when they looked at him…but what did that really _mean_? What was his place in the world? Alfred had always wondered. Once, he'd thought his place was merely with Arthur. Then, he'd thought maybe his place was in the glare of public eye, both adoring and scorn-filled. Without Arthur, and with no love for the fame and success, where did that leave him?

Lost again, that's where. He always felt lost when he was alone.

With a sigh, he turned off the bathroom light and moved to the window. He'd insisted on keeping their window curtains drawn since the video, and he'd installed the privacy shade himself, but now he found himself pushing the curtains away and drawing open the shade. The modern design of the school allowed for beautiful, oversized windows, nearly as tall as Alfred himself, as doubly wide across. Alfred stood in the center of the wall of glass and pressed his callused hands (getting softer now that he hadn't played sports in awhile) against the freezing glass. D.C. stretched out beyond the night, like a glittering little bauble inside a snow globe. The cold white fluff seemed to silence the world, muting it somehow, and making it more gentle and peaceful.

The world was completely silent…until the shriek of a whistle pierced the darkness.

Alfred moved before he even realized it, scooping up a steel baseball bat instinctively off the floor, hurdling out his door and down his hallway, skidding to a stop at the start of Arthur's hallway—the guard station was empty, and Arthur's door was ajar.

Alfred sprinted faster than he even knew it was possible for him to run. The lights were already on. Arthur sat in a tangled mess of sheets and blankets on the floor, the whistle caught up around his pale skin. Bright tears beaded in his lids made his green eyes sparkle like emeralds.

He was blessedly alone.

"A-alfred?" Arthur asked in complete surprise. "W-what are you doing here?"

Alfred dropped the baseball bat with a clatter and fell to his knees in sheer relief. He was panting, less out of exertion and more because of panic.

"Heard…the…whistle," Alfred gasped out. "I thought…thought…"

"I'm sorry. It was just a nightmare. They're getting so awful. Sometimes it's the stalker but most nights it's _you_. It's horrible, and I _hate_ it, because I know it's not real but it _feels_ real and—and..." whatever Arthur was going to say was choked on his sobbing. Franklin appeared in the door, warm cup of tea in hand, and seemed a little surprised to see Alfred and his make-shift weapon.

"You got here pretty fast," he commented.

"I don't sleep much these days," Alfred replied. Wearily, he scraped himself off the floor and retrieved his bat. "I get it now. I get why you wouldn't want to see me after…after dreaming that. I'll go, okay? I'll just…go."

"No…Alfred…wait…" Arthur stood up, too. Alfred half-turned, and Franklin excused himself out again once he'd delivered the tea. "Can we…go for a walk? Or something?"

"Arthur, it's below freezing outside."

"We don't have to go outside. We could go upstairs…to my room."

"You want to go crawling up to your creepy attic in the middle of the night?" Alfred asked. Arthur swallowed thickly and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

"You're right. I'm being silly. Go on back to bed. I won't blow the whistle again."

Alfred clawed a hand through his hair and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Well, come on then. Get your coat at least."

Arthur didn't ask for a second invitation. He hastily bundled his winter coat over his old man pajamas and offered his blanket to Alfred. Gratefully, Alfred huddled up under the blanket and extended his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur took it. Alfred smiled at him for the small show of trust.

Franklin raised a questioning eyebrow at them as they left the room.

"I just need a little air. I promise we won't disturb anything in the school," Arthur said. Franklin, who Alfred was beginning to suspect was a huge softie, nodded in permission. What's more, he tossed Alfred his flashlight.

"Thanks, Franklin," Alfred said with a smile. Giving Arthur's hand a gentle squeeze, they set off down the empty hallways. Alfred liked to think of himself as brave, but he wasn't a big fan of the dark. But he had Arthur to think about, and he couldn't wimp out like a baby. He just couldn't.

Arthur was kind enough not to point out the fact that he was trembling the further from the dorms they went, and how his breathing quickened in each nearly pitch black staircase. Arthur held the flashlight steady, unafraid.

He'd never had the sort of personality that cowered or became consumed with irrational fears. His nightmares upset him, but he found himself being reckless more often than not. A normal person would have done the sensible thing and left a bad situation well enough alone…but he was practically inviting trouble by returning to school. Isolating himself, wandering about in the middle of the night…seeking his ghosts if they would not come to him. Was he asking for it? He wondered.

Beside him, Alfred trembled and nearly tripped on his dragging blanket.

"You can go back if you want," Arthur said simply. He'd just had a horrible nightmare about Alfred. Terrifying enough that he awoke in a cold sweat and blew his whistle in a complete panic. Yet just moments later, he forced himself to go walking off into the darkness with the same attacker from his dreams.

Maybe he hadn't had quite enough counseling. Maybe he was just cracked beyond repair. He _should_ be afraid…of the people he knew, of Alfred, of the school itself…and sometimes he was, but not tonight.

"S-shut up, Arthur. I'm not going to l-leave you al-lone up here."

Arthur let go of Alfred's hand. He didn't know why he did it, and Alfred apparently didn't know why either. He reached out for him like a child grasping for his mother. With a dark smile, eerie in the darkness, Arthur clicked off the flashlight.

"Let's play a game, Alfred. Hide and seek."

"Arthur, this isn't funny. You're scaring the shit out of me, okay? I'm scared. I'll admit it!"

"Rather disappointing. What good is that baseball bat going to do you if you're afraid to use it? Maybe I should carry the bat, and you should carry the flashlight."

"Sure, whatever! Just stop fucking around," Alfred pleaded. Arthur's moment of twisted amusement ended as quickly as it came. He suddenly wondered why he'd dragged them up to the fourth floor…why he was _enjoying_ proving his fearlessness to Alfred…who had never, not once, tried to scare or hurt him in real life.

"Take the flashlight and go back. Its fine, Alfred. Just an empty school. I think I'll stay here a bit and do some thinking," Arthur said quietly.

"You're acting really weird and depressed, Arthur. I've had enough of…whatever this is. Come on. We're leaving."

Arthur struggled, but Alfred grabbed him by the upper arm in an unrelenting grip. Moving quickly, abandoning the blanket in the hall, Alfred all but dragged him back downstairs, flashlight bouncing along in front of them.

"Let me go!" Arthur hissed.

"No!" Alfred said back, almost childishly stubborn.

"You can't do this," Arthur said, managing to twist free somewhere on the second story staircase. Much to his surprise, Alfred moved with alarming quickness and actually hoisted him up over his shoulder. Arthur tried to twist off, but Alfred was carrying him down the stairs and he didn't have a death wish.

That's when it hit him. Maybe he _did_ have a death wish.

"I know…I'm not the—damn it, stop wiggling!—brightest crayon in the box…but I know that I've _never_ seen you like this and I'm scared you're going to hurt yourself. So until you…feel more like yourself…you're just going to have to suffer my presence."

Two flights of stairs above their heads, in the abandoned room Arthur so liked to frequent, a shadowy figure emerged into the hallway. He walked until he was staring down at the blanket, crumpled on the floor.

If only _he_ hadn't interfered…Arthur would have come to him willingly. It was _him_ causing the problems. It was _him_ standing between them. If he and Arthur were to be together, then Alfred Jones needed to go away for a long, long time.

* * *

><p>Alfred had put Arthur down by the time they reached Franklin's station. Alfred all but slammed the flashlight onto the desk.<p>

"He's not allowed to go wandering off like that in the middle of the night anymore. Not under _any_ circumstances. Do you hear me?"

"Kid, what the hell are you—"

"I spoke plain English. He doesn't go off by himself. He's staying the night in my room," Alfred's tone left no room for argument. Arthur had fallen completely silent behind him, still caught up in Alfred's almost painful grasp.

"But—" Franklin protested unsurely.

"Goodnight, Franklin. He'll blow the whistle if he needs you."

"Arthur?" Franklin asked unsurely. Arthur, however, just felt completely hollow. He nodded, though he wasn't sure what he was even nodding about.

Alfred lessened his grip when he realized it was too tight. He guided Arthur down the hallway, down one more, and to his dorm room. He slipped inside with Arthur and locked it behind himself, locking the five other locks he'd put on the door at the same time he'd installed the privacy blinds.

He tugged Arthur to his bed and sat him down on it, and then went to the window. He didn't give a fuck about the beautiful view anymore. He harshly pulled down the shades and drew the curtains after making sure nobody was lurking around on the grounds below. They were a story up, but Alfred wasn't taking any chances. He made sure the baseball bat was beside his bed, and then checked under it just to be sure. Arthur watched with big green eyes as Alfred checked under Tony's bed, too, and then in the bathroom and closet.

"It's all clear. Here, give me your coat and I'll hang it up," Alfred said quietly, so as not to disturb Tony. When Arthur didn't move, Alfred did it for him. He undid the buttons with unusual gentleness and then slipped the coat off Arthur's bony shoulders. He hung it in the closet and returned to the bedside. "Go on—scoot over. I'll take outside."

"I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry," Arthur finally whispered. His voice sounded ragged in the darkness. "That was stupid. I _know_ that was stupid, but…"

"Hey, I can't _always_ be the dumbass. You gotta take a turn too, sometimes. Now get in bed and get some sleep. It's no wonder you're freaking out and acting weird. Your mind needs rest."

"Okay," Arthur agreed quietly. Nothing about it felt comfortable. Not the bed, not all of Alfred's warmth almost stifling at his front, and not the sound of a third person breathing across the room.

"I just can't."

"You two are incredibly loud," Tony's flat voice said from the other side of the room. Alfred sighed.

"Sorry, Tony."

"…but I can help." Tony got up and went to the bathroom, where Alfred knew he kept an impressive assortment of medications he never took. He crossed to them with a glass of water and two pills in hand.

"What are those?" Alfred asked.

"Sleeping pills. Two will knock him out."

Alfred half sat up, staring at Arthur questioningly. Arthur was already shaking his head, completely fearful. Alfred took in a ragged breath.

"At some point, you've got to trust me again. Can we start tonight? I think after the stunt you just pulled, you owe me that at least. I mean, 'let's play hide and seek'? _Really_, Arthur?"

Arthur calmed, considered Alfred's words, and then took the pills with a defeated air about him. Alfred was right. He was either losing it or it was already lost. He couldn't fight anymore. Once he'd swallowed down the pills that would make him all but helpless, he turned to face the wall and tried not to flinch when Alfred looped his arm around his waist. He flinched anyway, and Alfred ignored it.

Past the curtains, and the locked down privacy blinds, the snow pressed against the glass and neither Alfred nor Arthur gave a damn for the coldness of the night or the frightening silence of empty corridors and the sleeping world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Arthur got pretty creepy in this chapter. I promise I didn't do it just for drama. I read that teens suffering from depression and anxiety sometimes engage in reckless behavior, and, of course, suicidal thoughts. I think Arthur was dangerously toeing a line, but I hoped to show that Alfred simply refused to let him go there.


	28. First Date

**Chapter 28**

Saturday morning dawned peacefully. Alfred awoke with the world as it should have been every morning—Arthur in a deep, restful sleep in his arms. Alfred tried to memorize the feel of his body, the texture of his hair, the smell of his skin. It had been so long since he'd been allowed to _feel_ Arthur that he'd almost forgotten all the little details.

Alfred got ready for the morning and Tony did, as well. Arthur still slept on, his breathing regular and his sleep seemingly untroubled.

"I'll go get breakfast," Tony offered. Alfred gave Tony a big smile in thanks and then returned to the bed, where he sat and simply ran his fingers through Arthur's hair. At around nine, a knock sounded on the door and it was Lane. She poked her head in nosily and smiled to see Arthur sleeping so soundly.

"Thank goodness for that," she whispered, before easing the door closed again. Alfred got back into bed beside Arthur once more and couldn't resist gently kissing his forehead.

When he pulled back, big, green eyes were considering him a little sleepily.

"Alfred?" Arthur muttered. Alfred was relieved his ex didn't seem to be freaking out, despite their closeness.

"Morning, sleepy head. Feeling any better?" Alfred asked with a bright smile. Arthur sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room was chilly, and he tugged a blanket up around his shoulders. Alfred couldn't help but laugh.

"What're you laughing at me for?" Arthur pouted.

"I can't help it. You're just so cute in the mornings. Even your bed head is adorable," Alfred teased. He _slowly_ moved his hand forward to tug on a wayward lock of hair that was standing straight up. Arthur grumpily swatted his hand away, but there was no real malice in the action.

The door opened again and Tony returned with a breakfast tray loaded with fruits and things they'd need to make cereal. Reluctantly, Alfred let Arthur go to the bathroom. He was happy, though, when Arthur voluntarily returned to the bed and accepted the offer to eat breakfast with them.

"We should do something fun today," Alfred suggested.

"I'm frightfully behind on my studies. I can't—" Arthur started to protest, but Alfred quieted him with a quick peck on the lips that made Arthur's green eyes widen in surprise.

"Please? Pretty pretty please? With cherries on top? Pretty please with cherries and nuts and whipped cream and, and, and—"

"You're going to make me spill my cereal, you twat!" Arthur complained. Alfred flopped onto the bed in front of Arthur, total puppy face expression on, hands clenched dramatically against his chest.

"Please?" Arthur arched a slender brow and didn't respond, so Alfred poked out the bottom lip and made a sad little whining noise.

"Oh, for goodness sake…fine."

"Yes! Hear that, Tony? We're having a fun day in D.C.!"

"I am not yet convinced spending the day with the limey would be more enjoyable than watching _The Empire Strikes Back_ today."

"We'll go see _real_ spaceships—we'll go to the Smithsonian!" Alfred decided brightly. A small little smile twisted up Arthur's lips.

"I _have_ been meaning to visit. I do love museums," he confessed.

"Yay! I'll text everyone!"

"Alfred, not _everyone_. Just…close friends, okay?" Arthur asked. Alfred beamed at him.

"This is gonna be the best day ever!"

"Yes, well, I suppose I should go get dressed for it then," Arthur said.

It turned into a pretty big group when Alfred's texting was done, but Arthur didn't mind as much, because Alfred really had kept it to their closer friends. Francis and Matthew, of course, dropped everything to go, and Alex and Michelle wanted to come, too. Kiku and Heracles came, but less to spend the day with friends and more because they were both avid history fans. Feliciano and Alfred both had to visit a museum as part of the requirement for their art class, so Alfred texted him about it. Yao and Ivan decided it was a good opportunity for a family outing and agreed to meet up with them at the museum, and of course, Alfred extended an invitation to Patty and Peter.

"Everyone's coming?" Arthur asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah! They all miss hanging out with you, Artie," Alfred said with a sweet smile. Arthur looked away a little uncomfortably at that, but he wasn't backing out. The three set out and took Alfred's car to the museum. Alfred still hadn't gotten the appropriate permits to drive it, so Arthur drove and Alfred nagged him from the passenger seat. Tony and Flying Mint Bunny rode in the back, and neither Alfred nor Arthur teased Tony for strapping the large plushie into the spare seatbelt.

"We're going to the museum! It's going to be the best day ever! I loooooove going to the museum with Artie and with Tony!" Alfred sang in a ridiculous, childlike fashion. Arthur rolled his eyes, but that little smile was back on his lips.

They all met up at the Air and Space Museum. They made for a fairly large group, and it had been awhile since they'd all hung out together. The group had even gotten bigger, because Feliciano invited Romano, who also took their art class, and he had dragged Antonio along. Gilbert had shown up, too, presumably because Francis and Antonio were present.

Everyone instantly started joking and horsing around, but as Alfred had requested in his text, nobody made a big deal about Arthur coming along. He got quite a few bright smiles, but nobody heckled him or paid him too much attention, which Arthur was extremely grateful for.

Except Peter, but Peter clung to him like Velcro even before the attack.

"Arthur! You came! I didn't _really_ think you were going to come, but Alfred said you were so _I _came and it's going to be a super fun day!" Peter enthused, racing around him like a kid hyped on sugar.

"He had pancakes for breakfast…lotsa syrup," Patricia informed with a sheepish smile.

"How did we get stuck with all these boys, huh?" Michelle asked, as she came up behind Patricia. The two girls were as different as night and day, but it was obvious Michelle was at least trying to make an effort. Alex walked with her, holding her hand, and smiled at Arthur and Patricia.

"Yay! Raivis is here!" Peter rushed off to greet Raivis, who looked very cute in his little pea coat and matching hat and gloves. Natalia looked annoyed that she'd been brought along, but she held Ivan's hand all the same. Yao pushed Raivis in his big, comfortable looking stroller and Sofia smiled at everything she saw while taking pictures every two minutes.

Arthur was genuinely glad to see Yao, and he left Alfred's side to approach his old friend. Yao put Raivis on the ground to play with Peter, and he beamed at Arthur. Ivan dutifully took over the job of pushing the empty stroller while he talked quietly with Natalia about her school and her friends.

"It's good to see you out and about," Yao said to Arthur.

"It's good to see you, too," Arthur said, almost a little shyly. Yao smiled and casually looped his arm through Arthur's.

"Look. Poor Alfred looks like you've cancelled Christmas by leaving him to come talk to me," Yao said with a teasing grin. Arthur glanced over to see Alfred clearly torn between wanting to follow after him like a lost puppy and wanting to give him some time to talk with Yao.

"This was all his idea. Despite everything, I couldn't say no to him," Arthur said. The two friends smiled in amusement when Gilbert came running by and snatched Alfred's hat. The two chased each other around arguing, of all things, about who was awesome enough to wear the beanie. The rest of the group began to arrive, including Feliciano, Ludwig, Antonio and Romano. Disgruntled parents were already dragging their children far, far away from Romano, who was cursing Antonio out as usual and punching him (rather violently) each time Antonio tried to sidle up to him…which was about every five seconds.

"This is going to be a crazy day, isn't it?" Arthur asked.

"Looks like we've got another girl," Patricia commented as the public bus stopped and Kiku and Heracles, Matthew and Francis, and lastly Elizabeta all joined them. Gilbert stopped his antics with Alfred and uncaringly tossed him his beanie back. With a gallant bow, he made a fool of himself in front of Elizabeta, who blushed but let him kiss the back of her hand anyway.

"Wasn't she with Roderich?" Arthur asked, a little surprised.

"I guess they broke up. I don't follow school gossip much anymore these days," Yao said casually. Alfred happily greeted Matthew and Francis, and had an amusing interaction with Kiku when he tried to go for a fistpump but Kiku confusedly went for a high-five.

Laughing, chattering, and joking, the big group moved en masse towards the entrance to the museums. All the museums were free, which was great, even though most of the teens present had loads of money to spare.

Arthur knew he was disappointing Alfred by not sticking with him, but at the same time, he felt more comfortable with Yao's quiet, steady presence near him. Having had such a good night of sleep helped, but being in such a big, noisy crowd was making him feel anxious. Alfred only made that anxiety worsen, whether he meant to or not.

"Don't force yourself, Arthur. It's perfectly fine to walk with me. Alfred has plenty of friends here to keep him entertained. Besides, I think it's good to let Ivan and Natalia spend some time together. She's been getting in trouble at school."

"Alright," Arthur agreed almost gratefully. For the first half-hour or so, Alfred kept looking at him constantly, but Yao kept their arms linked and continued talking to Arthur in a low, soothing stream of randomness that told everyone else to keep their distance.

Alfred certainly _wasn't_ short of entertainment, though.

"Tony! Check _this_ out! It's the Apollo 11 Command Module!" Alfred gushed.

"I want to get inside," Tony said flatly. Alfred began to look around comically, pretty sure Tony was _not_ allowed to climb into the exhibit.

"Tony, you're gonna set off some sort of alarm!" Thankfully, there wasn't a readily accessible door. The whole thing was encased in some sort of thick, plastic cone. Tony pressed his hands against the plastic and after a few moments, Alfred joined him. They talked about the mechanics that were visible in awed, reverent, space geek voices.

Arthur smiled, and that time, when Alfred sought him out with his eyes to express his pure enthusiasm, Arthur didn't feel anxiety so much as he felt almost overwhelming fondness. He half-smiled and nodded at Alfred's excited gesturing and pointing.

"Arthur, this carried astronauts to the _moon_ for the first time! How cool is that?"

"Yes, Alfred, I see. It's…nice," Arthur said lamely. Truth be told, it just looked like a giant cone of junk metal to him, but Alfred and Tony looked totally enraptured.

Raivis came toddling up to Yao and tugged on his coat.

"Mama, up!"

"You're getting too big for me to carry you around, _bao bao_."

"Up!" Raivis insisted. With a smile, Arthur let Yao go so he could hoist the toddler up on his hip. Despite his slenderness, Yao was strong. Sofia came over to check on them briefly, but then she fell into talking with Patricia and Peter about the exhibits.

The group largely broke down into couples. Gilbert and Elizabeta quickly separated from the group to do their own thing, and while Matthew and Francis stayed near Alfred and Arthur, it was obvious Matthew wasn't too eager to get lumped into a group with Michelle and Alex. This seemed to bother Alex, who occasionally tried to get Matthew's attention, but Matthew went rather shy on him and didn't seem to be inclined to talk to anyone other than Alfred and Francis.

Feliciano was too excited to wait, and dragged Romano off towards the art museum, telling Alfred as they passed that they'd take good notes for him and meet up later to do their project. Of course, Ludwig and Antonio followed after them, trying to make rather awkward small talk with each other. After the big group had broken up, or at least, some of the more energetic ones had dispersed, Arthur's anxiety eased somewhat.

Kiku and Heracles approached him, just as calm and comforting in their presence as Yao was.

"Arthur-kun, I wanted to apologize. I have heard the shirts upset you. That was never my intention. I won't wear mine anymore," Kiku said in heavily accented English. Arthur sighed in discomfort, but he knew such conversations were inevitable. This was exactly why he'd avoided socializing any since returning to school.

"It's fine, Kiku. I understand they're for a good cause."

"You know, if it's not okay with you, you can say as much," Yao advised. Kiku looked at him with big, imploring eyes.

"I…well…they just make me a little uncomfortable, that's all," Arthur said. Kiku nodded earnestly.

"I won't wear it anymore then. I'm glad you're spending time outside of school again, Arthur-kun. Have a good date with Alfred-kun," Kiku said sweetly. Arthur blushed, his eyes finding Alfred again, who was figuring out IMAX times at the nearby theater and debating scheduling with Matthew, who held a museum map.

"This isn't a date," he said, but Kiku and Heracles had already drifted off to examine an exhibit meant for children on the mechanics of flight nearby. Peter energetically captured Kiku's attention and dragged him off to explain the exhibit, much to the amusement of Heracles, who thought just about everything Kiku did or said was adorable.

Arthur stuck beside Yao until Alfred finally worked up the nerve to interrupt them.

"They have really cool space flight simulators. Will you go on one with me?" Alfred asked. He looked so completely hopeful and sweetly sincere that Arthur couldn't refuse him.

"Alright…but just once," Arthur said.

"Great!" Alfred grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the short line, much to Yao's secret amusement. Arthur pulled his hand free with a blush and stuffed them into his coat pockets. Alfred pretended not to notice and chattered happily about how he'd decided that he wanted to be a pilot. Arthur might have been more supportive except he'd heard the same story over and over again. After they saw a particularly good movie together, Alfred wanted to be a director. When he spotted a huge, catchy billboard, Alfred wanted to model. When they'd been immersed in their combat game, Alfred wanted to be a software designer. His aspirations changed on a daily basis, it seemed.

"Right. I'll stay on the ground, thanks. _Especially_ if you're in the cockpit," Arthur replied.

"I could make a joke about being in your cockpit right now…but I won't. I'm too mature for that."

Arthur snorted in amusement, and Alfred beamed in pride that he'd made Arthur laugh. It was their turn. Arthur eyed the machine a little warily, but he trailed in after Alfred and jammed himself into the seat next to Alfred's. Their thighs pressed against each other and Arthur could feel Alfred's muscular side against his own. He had the odd sensation of wanting to be both closer and further apart at the same time.

The ride began and Arthur didn't enjoy it at all, though Alfred had the time of his life. By the time it was over, Arthur felt sick to his stomach and his head hurt. Alfred's loud whooping for joy and excited chatter didn't help matters.

"Why don't you ride again with Tony? Arthur and I are going to sit down at the food center and give Raivis his snack," Yao said. Arthur gave him a grateful look and when they reached the table, he put his head down on his arms.

"Alright?" Yao asked.

"Give me a minute," Arthur replied rather pathetically. Yao frowned. He'd hoped Arthur's first day out of school would be more enjoyable. Arthur, however, didn't seem to be having a very good time.

It was just as Yao was thinking this that he heard the whispering break out.

"I think that's him! It _is_ him! Hold my stuff—I'm going to get his autograph!" a random girl said. Then there were more. In a flash, their table was being surrounded and people were shoving napkins and pens at Arthur, and snapping pictures on their phone. Yao couldn't see Raivis and he panicked, because Sofia was off with Patricia and Ivan was off with Natalia, and _he'd _been the one monitoring Raivis as he played with some little toys nearby.

"Raivis!" Yao called out, trying to push past the growing crowd. He managed to get out of the throng of people and scoop Raivis up into his arms, but when he turned back around, the crowd had almost consumed Arthur.

He caught a glimpse of Alfred realizing what was happening and fighting his way through the sudden mob. The last thing he saw was Alfred all but lifting Arthur out of his chair and muscling him through the throng of eager people.

"Come on, run!" Alfred shouted, and Arthur followed him, their hands tightly linked.

Yao let out a sigh, and Matthew and Francis joined him.

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing…" Matthew trailed off unsurely.

"Well, at least Arthur can't cling to you anymore," Francis said, directing the comment at Yao.

Alfred had run with Arthur into the IMAX theater, smacking down two tickets carelessly at the booth and then all but dragging him off into the darkness of a random theater.

"Wait! Stop!" Arthur huffed. He anxiously pulled his wrist from Alfred's grip and backed up against a shadowy wall. Beyond the small entry way, the booming sounds of an IMAX could be heard.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said, panting for breath. "I didn't really think this through."

"It's not your fault. They just surprised me, and…and…" Arthur was gently massaging his own wrist and Alfred was horrified to see tears springing up in his eyes. He didn't know if it was the right move or the wrong one, but he stepped forward and wrapped Arthur up in his arms.

"I'm sorry. It's okay now," he soothed, petting Arthur's back and tangling his hand through Arthur's choppy blond locks. He pressed a rough kiss against Arthur's forehead, and pulled back a little to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Hey, hey, everything's okay now. It's okay."

Arthur shuddered against him but accepted Alfred's embrace. He tucked his head under Alfred's chin like he'd done countless times before and simply let Alfred hold him. After they'd stood like that for quite a long time, Alfred eased back to see if Arthur was okay. The shorter blond was still sniffling a bit, but he seemed calmer.

"Let's get seats, okay?" Arthur nodded and didn't protest when Alfred laced their hands together.

They sat in the mostly empty theater watching serene images of the coral reefs flash by on the screen, and Arthur relaxed heavily into Alfred's side. His confidence growing, Alfred looped his arm around Arthur's shoulders and kissed his messy hair lovingly. It was Arthur who slipped his hand past the armrest and onto Alfred's lap. He kept it there, just lightly clinging to Alfred's thigh through his soft jeans.

When the IMAX ended, Alfred reluctantly stood. His hand stayed linked with Arthur's.

"There's an exit over there that goes outside. I'll text Ivan and ask him to get Tony back to the dorms. We can go early, if you want. We could go to the White House for lunch."

Alfred suggested this because he knew as well as Arthur that the White House was probably the most secure building in all of D.C.

"That sounds good," Arthur agreed.

Luckily, they made their way to the car without further mobbing, and pulled up into the White House drive safe and sound around eleven. Alfred's parents weren't actually home, but the kitchen staff was quick to whip up the boys some lunch and bring it to them in the library. Alfred lit the fireplace and warmed up the room so that their coats weren't necessary anymore. Down to just his jeans, socks and t-shirt, Alfred stretched out by the fire after eating his fill. Arthur eventually slipped out of his coat as well, and then proceeded to investigate the contents of the library. He found a book that interested him, and joined Alfred near the fire. He didn't sit right by him, but he sat closer than he would have just a few weeks before.

"Find something good?" Alfred asked. Arthur nodded quietly, and placed the book down on his lap. Biting his lip, Alfred rolled over so he was closer. He idly traced little designs with his fingertip on Arthur's thigh. Arthur tensed up for a moment, but then seemed to make a conscience decision to relax and allow it.

"Read out loud to me?" Alfred asked. Arthur had read to him lots, back in their first year, when Arthur thought if he didn't read the textbook to Alfred, Alfred wouldn't get the information any other way.

Arthur really didn't feel like talking, but just like he tolerated the feather-light touches against his leg, he tolerated Alfred's request to hear his voice. He began to read—it was a book about George Washington—and though it was interesting to Arthur, Alfred was dozing within minutes. His hand fell still against Arthur's thigh, and his blue eyes fluttered shut.

Arthur stopped reading, and took a moment just to stare at him. Alfred had gone through so much for him. They'd fought so hard to be together, broken apart, survived every test and trial that had been thrown at them…and yet, now it almost felt like they were strangers.

Or maybe, Arthur felt like the person he'd become was a stranger. Always so sure of himself before—the certainty to Alfred's confusion—now it was _he_ who felt lost…and very, very alone. He hesitated just a moment before carding his fingers through Alfred's soft, thick hair. Alfred rolled a bit, flipping onto his back, his arm opening invitingly. Practically shaking, Arthur eased himself onto the thick, soft rug and curled up against Alfred's side. Alfred shifted again, half-awake, half-napping, until Arthur was comfortingly cocooned in Alfred's arms.

Arthur didn't feel like smiling, and he didn't particularly feel happy, but he _was_ glad that he'd spent the day with Alfred.

* * *

><p>Alfred's mom and dad were the first to open their wallets and donate on the first Monday of week six. They pledged to donate half a million dollars to a local non-profit counseling center that aided rape victims if Alfred made it the full three hours. When the donation aspect started, the Hallway Project seemed to explode in the media overnight. Prior to that, it had been noted and briefly televised, but now it was <em>huge<em>.

Apparently, schools all over the nation were taking the idea and running with it. They were marking up their hallways and covering the walls with posters to raise awareness. Francis and Michelle found a manufacturer willing to make the shirts for next to nothing, and they began selling them on a website that Kiku made for the club to raise even more money.

Alfred accepted the shirt Francis tossed at him in the hallway a little warily, but he didn't put it on.

"Sorry Francis. Maybe it's because _you_ made it, but Arthur doesn't really like these shirts," Alfred said. Francis rolled his eyes and stalked off down the hallway, speaking to important people that had shown up to see the project for themselves.

Arthur returned from dinner, again with two trays instead of one. He wanted to tell everyone to clear out of the hallway. He wanted to pull Alfred into his room and eat with him there, just the two of them, where they could pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

But Arthur understood duty just as well as Alfred did. So he passed Alfred his dinner tray and then went to his room alone. A few minutes later, he emerged with his homework and spread it out around his door. He had no desire to mingle with the large crowd at the end of the hallway, but he wanted Alfred to know that he wasn't mad at him. They exchanged fleeting glances that the cameras loved, and Arthur _did_ feel a little better about things when the three hours were over.

It was a nice gesture on the part of Alfred's parents. Even if it all was just politics, Arthur got the feeling that at least a small part of it was genuine concern…at least, on Helen's part, anyway. Then again, Arthur reasoned, Helen was very good at seeming sincere on television. It was part of why she was such a successful First Lady.

She'd been very kind to him, though, when she'd found them napping rather innocently in her library over the weekend. She'd baked them cookies (Alfred had begged for this, because he assured both her and Arthur they were the absolute best cookies in the world) and the three of them had spent an hour or two just talking normally—not fighting, not acting for the cameras—just two teen boys happy to have found a mother figure willing to cook for their bottomless stomachs for awhile. Helen had seemed pleasantly surprised by their visit, and cleared her afternoon schedule just to spend time with them in the kitchen. Arthur fondly remembered a snippet of their conversation from that afternoon.

"_How did you get so good at baking, mom? It doesn't really seem like it would be your thing," Alfred had commented. Helen glanced around the kitchen to make sure none of the staff were eavesdropping. _

"_I was sort of a late blooming hippy. I made a lot of pot brownies when I was starting out as a model back in the eighties." _

_Alfred looked so wide-eyed and horrified that Arthur couldn't help but laugh at him. _

"_All the same, your baking is quite good, Mrs. Jones," Arthur said. _

"_You can call me Helen, Arthur. Next time you come, I'll make brownies." _

"_Moooommmm!" Alfred had protested in embarrassment._

So even if their generous donation to Michelle and Francis's campaign was just to make themselves look good, Arthur liked to think a small part of it was Helen Jones warming up to him.

"Well, hey, at least some good is coming out of my crowded hallways now, hmm?" Mike commented absently. Arthur glanced towards him and nodded.

"Yes. I don't like thinking about it, but knowing others will be helped…it _does_ feel good."

As the hallway cleared, Alfred stood up and packed his school things away. He chatted with people about the project, and smoothly deflected questions about the status of he and Arthur's relationship.

When everyone had cleared out, he walked the length of the hallway and offered him a smile that was almost shy.

"Hey," he said.

"Hullo," Arthur replied.

"So…the donations are pretty cool, right? Francis already has sponsors lined up for the rest of the week. I think you'll really like Friday's donor."

"Oh?" Arthur asked. But Alfred just grinned his 'I-have-a-secret-and-I-won't-tell' grin and then quickly, almost missing his mark, Alfred leaned forward and pecked Arthur's cheek. It made Arthur's face flush heatedly.

"Goodnight, Artie," Alfred said. His smile was achingly beautiful. His blue eyes made Arthur think of wide open skies, and crystal blue waters, and the pale shells of robin eggs, all swirled together in a kaleidoscope of blues.

"W-wait!"

"Yeah?" Alfred asked, his head tilting curiously to the side.

"If…if you're going to kiss me goodnight, at least make it a proper one," Arthur said in a rush. Alfred's grin widened slowly, and then he was leaning forwards. Arthur found himself holding his breath, his eyes gently fluttering shut—

"PDA, guys. Move it along, kid," Mike interrupted blandly.

When Arthur opened his eyes, confused at why he was not kissing that beautiful smile, it was to see Alfred grinning at him a little sheepishly.

"Yeah, guess Mike doesn't want to see us suck face in the hallway. Sleep tight, alright? Love ya," Alfred said. It was casual, and perfectly natural the way he said it. Arthur felt his throat close up and his words fail him. He _wanted_ to say it, he truly did, but the words simply wouldn't come. He saw Alfred's expression fall a bit before he made the obvious attempt to cheer himself up and pretend nothing had happened.

"Goodnight," Arthur said softly. It was all he could manage, and it sounded pathetic compared to Alfred's easy declaration of his feelings. But Alfred half-turned, and blew him a kiss, and then tripped over his shoe lace and made Arthur snort in amusement.

Once he was out of earshot, Arthur turned to Mike a bit peevishly.

"You couldn't have made an exception, just that one time?"

Mike just grinned and continued his game of Minesweeper.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **There's hope for Arthur yet! Of course, he has no clue how narrowly he came to a run-in with the stalker just last chapter, and Alfred has no idea that the stalker's rage has shifted towards him. But good times in this chapter, because we needed some of those. Everyone who reviews gets a pot brownie from Helen. Oh, that whacky Helen.

As far as updating goes, it has been a little crazy this weekend, hasn't it? I do this sometimes. I get to a good part and I'm just in the zone. My weekend has totally vanished, and this will likely be the last update for today. I've got to actually spend some time with my family and cleaning my house and lesson planning, lol. But I hope you all enjoyed!


	29. Game Over

**Chapter 29**

The week passed quickly for Arthur, who thought less and less of his attack and more and more about where he stood with Alfred after their date that was not a date. He was always reminded, however, of what had happened to him when he returned from dinner to see the crowd in the hall. The size of the demonstrators fluctuated, but they were always _there_. Though he was warming up to Alfred again, he still did not know how he felt about what had happened to him, and he wished he didn't have to think about it at all. The daily presence in the hallway made it impossible for him to deny everything.

On one hand, he felt that it was nice to see his close friends doing something so noble for the community and for rape victims…he just didn't want to be one of the victims they were helping. It had been almost a full six weeks, and Arthur had barely ventured down the hall at all. At first, this was due to feelings of anger and isolation. Then he'd felt annoyed and apathetic, and now…now he just didn't want the crowd, or the cameras, or any of it.

Except Alfred. He wanted Alfred in his room for those three hours. He wanted Alfred to claim him over and over again, so that the last touch he remembered wouldn't be that of his stalker. It was Thursday morning when Arthur finally managed to verbalize his need to Alfred before school began.

"I know you're raising money, and that's great…but I rather hoped we could spend some time together tonight," Arthur said in a suggestive purr. Alfred swallowed thickly and his cheeks flushed with color.

"Well, of course I _want_ to…but Francis said no."

Arthur's eyes narrowed in warning. Alfred actually took a step backwards, raising his hands up in self-defense.

"You have three seconds to explain yourself," Arthur barked.

"It's partly because the project needs to be finished—"

"I want you _back_, Alfred, yet you're saying we can't spend time together because you'd rather sit outside my door with a bunch of publicity seeking strangers?" Arthur clarified. Alfred sighed and glanced around the crowded hallway uneasily.

"Let me just ask you one thing," he said. Suddenly, his sincere blue eyes were focused on Arthur with burning intensity and earnestness. "Do you want me back because you love me…or because you want to forget what happened to you?" Alfred asked simply. The line was too smooth to have been Alfred's. Francis must have been coaching him on what to say if Arthur tried to pressure him.

Internally, Arthur seethed with annoyance and indignation…and a not-so-small amount of mortification. Alfred was making him feel cheap. They _loved_ each other, for god's sake! Alfred was his territory—_his_ boyfriend, and everyone knew it, even if he _had_ dumped him. It should have been okay for Arthur to tell Alfred that he needed him, but instead he just felt dirty and desperate now.

To be honest, the dirty feeling was nothing new. Arthur settled on frosty silence and slamming his locker shut with a satisfying bang. He stormed off, kicking himself for thinking he could trust Alfred with how he was feeling and what he was wanting.

"Artie!" Alfred pleaded, reaching out to grab at his arm. Arthur shook him off rather violently.

"_Don't_ touch me. If you know me _so_ well, then I don't need to explain to you why I want to punch in your face right now," Arthur spat. They had caught the attention of other students, who were gathering into a crowd and whispering and gossiping already. A few started playfully chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Arthur rolled his eyes, even more aggravated by the feeling of living in a fish tank, and continued on towards his class. Alfred doggedly followed him.

"It's not _just_ you here, okay? I'll admit that's what Francis told me to say if you asked me to…you know…but he's right! I don't want to be used!" Alfred defended in a low voice, trying not to gather more attention. Arthur faced him, green eyes wide and a little wild looking.

"Well I didn't want to be used either, but it didn't fucking matter what _I_ wanted, did it?" Arthur was panting after his hurried walking and his outburst. He felt all the staring eyes burning holes in him and he flushed darkly in embarrassment.

"Arthur…I don't know what to say. You know…you _have_ to know that I'm _so_ sorry for what you've been through. I wish I could take it all away. You know I do…but I can't. I'm sorry, Artie. I'm sorry I can't make it better," Alfred replied. Arthur was horrified to see that the taller boy was crying—right in the hallway, in front of everyone. Arthur felt like a complete jerk. Could he do _nothing_ right anymore?

A familiar face pushed through the crowd.

"Get the fuck to class! This is none of your damned business!" Michelle barreled through the little group that had formed nearby consisting mostly of Ashley and her groupies. Alex came up behind her smirking, and certainly not making any apologies for her loud behavior. The students began to disperse, not wanting to start drama with the unhinged, wild school slut.

As she left, Ashley made a pointed comment to her friends just loudly enough for Michelle to hear.

"If she's so against girls getting raped, then why is her skirt barely covering her fat ass?" The girls broke out into malicious laughter that Michelle mocked as she shot them a rude hand gesture.

Alfred was trying to get control of himself, but it was obvious that he was just as embarrassed as Arthur judging by his dark red cheeks and his flushed neck. Michelle pulled a napkin out of her purse and handed it to Alfred wordlessly, who used it to swipe immediately at his leaking eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Al. Alex, take him to the guys' room, would you?" she not-so-subtly ordered. With a nod, Alex gave Alfred a pat on the back and nodded towards the nearby men's room.

"Come on, pretty boy. Your hair is messed up—can't have that!" Alex said with bright, faked cheerfulness. Michelle shot him a warning look and he rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright—I won't mess with you today. It's obvious you're not having a good day. Just don't expect me to fawn over you like all your eleven-year-old twitter fans."

Alfred wasn't really paying much attention to Alex and his ill-timed teasing. He shot one last painful glance at Arthur before he took the excuse to leave and ducked into the restroom with Alex on his tail.

"So…what was that all about?" Michelle asked bluntly. The tardy bell rang, echoing through the emptying halls. Arthur cursed and started to walk off.

"Piss off. I'm late," Arthur snapped. Michelle let him go. When he was quite far down the hall, she shouted after him, clearly feeling no shame.

"I _didn't_ deserve it. Not because of how I dressed, not because of the choices I made, not even because of how I acted. I _didn't_ deserve it…and neither did you!"

"Just leave me _alone_, Michelle! I'm _not_ you! Don't try to force me to…to…urgh! Just sod off!" Arthur cursed, before ducking into his class. Michelle sneered in disapproval and tossed her dark hair in irritation. True, nobody was going to give her an award for being Ms. Sensitive, but she was _trying_ to help Arthur. Like Alfred, however, she just didn't know how. Even though she and Arthur had gone through the same horrible thing, she still didn't know what to say or how to comfort him. She recognized Arthur's anger—she certainly knew the feeling—but as she barely could control her own temper these days, she knew it was hypocritical to tell Arthur to control his.

Without caring about propriety, she went into the men's restroom.

"He was being a jerk. He doesn't mean it, Alfred," she said by way of greeting. Alfred was leaning over a sink, splashing cool water on his face. He flashed her a small, fake smile.

"Yeah. Thanks for trying to help, Shell, but…I don't think Arthur wants to talk. Not to me, and not to you, either. Just please don't give him a hard time."

"As long as he thinks he's a victim, he's going to stay trapped in that shame! He's _got_ to snap out of this. It's not okay for him to treat you like this! He's been doing this to you for weeks now—"

"He's getting better, okay? Last Saturday he really tried. He _really_ did. I'm strong enough to stick this through, and I know he loves me."

"Alfred…you need to go to a counselor or something. Shit, this is just getting bad. I think Francis would agree with me. Beating you up? Making you cry in the hallway? When do you draw the line?" Michelle demanded.

Alfred was clutching tightly to the sides of the sink, his face a mask of frustration and confusion.

"It's _fine_. He's going to get better."

"And what if he doesn't?" Michelle asked bluntly, her cool blue eyes assessing Alfred. The tall teen snapped, and he violently kicked the nearby metal trashcan. The sound boomed in the tiled bathroom. Suddenly, a teacher was yelling at them.

"You three! OUT!" Alfred cursed when he saw who it was—Mrs. Smiley was anything but as happy as her name implied. They were in for it.

Sullenly, the three teens exited the bathroom while she yelled at them for their misbehavior. The morning ended with them all sitting in the principal's office, each with a Saturday morning D-hall and none of their issues resolved or their concerns abated.

* * *

><p>By last period, the events of the morning had been wildly distorted by the gossip mill. Arthur had heard six different versions, all equally ridiculous, just by overhearing random conversations. Had he been actively seeking the gossip out, god only knows how many accounts he would have been able to dig up.<p>

Only one conversation had hurt him.

"I heard he's been hitting Alfred. It's, like, really out of hand, but they're trying to cover it up because of the press and stuff. He gave him a black eye."

"Yeah, Arthur's totally changed. They used to be best friends. I feel bad for Arthur and all, but Alfred's such a sweet guy! Prince Arthur needs to go to a mental hospital or something if he's that messed up."

Arthur frowned bitterly and knew what would be floating around in the gossip rags next—rumors of Alfred's horrible abuse at his hands. Arthur practically stormed up to his escape, just wanting to get _away_, barely even looking up to the point that he didn't notice someone in his path until they he was sprawled on top of him in the hallway.

And not just anyone. _Him_.

"So…we meet again. Your big, tough boyfriend isn't going to beat me up again for getting knocked over by you, is he?" Celio asked brusquely. Arthur scrambled to get off of the senior, cursing his horrible luck.

"N-no. We're through," Arthur said. At the exact same time, he wondered why those words were coming out of his mouth. He loved Alfred. Everyone knew they weren't broken up for good. Why the fuck was he talking to his ex like they were?

"I heard. I have heard…quite a bit, concerning you," Celio said.

"Well, the rumors are shit. Don't believe everything you hear," Arthur snapped in anger. Celio arched a brow at him in mild surprise.

"Arthur, you seem very…tense. Surely seeing me can't be _that_ upsetting? Don't tell me I was your first love or something!" Celio joked, clearly not thinking much of the former freshman he'd seduced into bed rather shamelessly.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just…surprising. I haven't seen you around."

"You haven't been around to see me. We don't have any classes together. You don't come to the music room anymore. Have you missed me?" Celio's roguish hazel eyes were the same, still dancing with mischief and familiarity.

With a hollow sort of feeling in his chest, Arthur realized that Celio had been the first boy to use him. He'd been hurt and taken advantage of long before his stalker came around. A painful flashback pierced his brain—too big hands, encased in rough gloves, and that horrible, awful voice whispering to him as those fingers pushed into him…

"Celio, I know this is random but do you fancy a quick fuck?" Arthur asked. His green eyes were cold with determination and his mouth was set in a hard line. If Celio noticed the sweat on his brow or the tight curl of Arthur's fists, he didn't comment.

The older boy considered him for a long, agonizing moment. Then he asked a single question.

"Why?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. Why was everyone asking him that today? He just wanted to fuck around with someone! Was that so strange? He wasn't an angel. He could have sex just to vent some aggression. People did it all the time.

"Because I just want a cock in me. Do you want a hand-written invitation or—"

"Easy, easy…I'm not your boyfriend, so don't beat me up!" Celio joked crudely. Arthur glared. "Not in the mood for laughing at rumors? Alright. Come on, we'll go to my room."

"No. We'll do it up here. Nobody comes this way. There's a room one floor up that's deserted."

Celio shrugged carelessly, and hitched his bag further up on his muscular shoulder.

"Lead on," he said with a wave. Arthur noticed with disgust the growing bulge in Celio's pants. He really was a randy dog. Not that Arthur felt much different from him just then.

"I'm topping, right? Shame you're not a virgin anymore," Celio remarked casually. It was clear he no longer felt any need to sweet talk Arthur. Likely, he was still a little irritated by Alfred pummeling him the year before.

"Yeah. I want it rough."

Celio just smirked.

* * *

><p>Alfred could barely sit still at the end of the hallway. Something just <em>felt<em> wrong. Of course, he'd fought with Arthur that morning (though that was nothing unusual anymore), but he still expected Arthur to show up after he'd eaten dinner in the cafeteria. The sponsor for the night was the local PFLAG chapter, and the various officials of the organization were occupying the hallway and speaking to the students about civil rights and activism. No camera crew was there, but a photographer from the city paper had come.

Alfred was really distracted, and he was glad no interviews were being done. The brunt of the public relations work fell on Francis, who was a natural. The PFLAG members couldn't get enough of him and Matthew, and Alfred couldn't help but feel jealousy when he saw them so sweetly holding hands or sharing a loving look as they talked to the community leaders.

Just last May it had been himself and Arthur that were the golden couple. How quickly things changed.

The minutes dragged, the crowd peaked and then dispersed, like it did every night…and still no Arthur.

"I'm getting worried. He should have come back from dinner by—" Alfred's sentence ended unnaturally soon when he realized what he was seeing.

"Uh-oh," was all Matthew said. Alfred didn't know what to think. His brain simply short-circuited. Walking down the hall, casually hand in hand, was Arthur and the slimy, smooth-talking, _bastard_ that had reduced Arthur's entire existence into a fucking sticker on his guitar case.

Arthur gazed at him coolly. Celio shot him a smug, satisfied grin and let go of Arthur's hand. He gave him a lewd little slap on the ass.

"It was fun. I'll call you," he promised. Waving casually at Alfred in obvious dismissal, Celio sauntered off down the hallway.

In all his steady, patient weeks of waiting, Alfred had actually made considerable progress down the hall. He was only fifteen feet or so from Arthur's door. Arthur glanced at him, his eyes darkened and the hickey on his throat clearly visible past his gaping, button-up shirt. Alfred noted the buttons were not done up correctly.

"Didn't think you'd still be out here. Didn't the three hours end some time ago?" Arthur asked with casual cruelty. Thankfully, the photographer had left and most of the students were gone, with the exception of a few who now eagerly watched the scene unfold.

Matthew wisely placed a restraining hand on Alfred's bicep. He began to whisper to him furiously.

"It's _not_ worth it, Al. He's _trying_ to piss you off. Don't blow up. Just walk away."

"That's right. Just walk away. Unless you want to _wait_ for Celio's sloppy seconds?" Arthur asked, making sure to twist the knife in Alfred's heart.

"I don't…I don't even know what to _say_," Alfred realized. Matthew gripped his arm almost pleadingly now.

"Don't say anything. Please, Alfred. Let's just go. Don't fight over this. He's hurt and he's acting this way because of what happened to him. You can't take it personally—"

The loud _bang_ of Arthur's door slamming could be heard three hallways over.

"Just call it a night, please," Matthew pleaded one more time. Alfred slowly, slowly let his fists uncurl.

"It's over," Alfred said simply. Francis and Matthew exchanged a heavy glance. "I'm done. I can't take this anymore."

"But tomorrow—" Francis said helplessly. Matthew cut him off with a glare.

"Okay, Al. We understand. We'll take care of everything. Just don't do anything rash, alright?" Matthew said gently. Alfred's lips twisted down into a heavy frown.

"I need to go for a walk. Alone."

Nobody stopped him.

Alfred walked until he found himself in the gymnasium. He hadn't visited in months, but it still felt like home. The rubber floor of the basketball court squeaked as he crossed it. Alfred imagined the scoreboard lit all up in red, the cheering of the crowds, and the satisfying swish of the ball sliding through the net. Shooting hoops sounded like a good idea. The locker room was unlocked as usual, and Alfred fetched the basketball from his gym locker on autopilot. He changed into his sneakers and gym shorts and returned to the quiet, safety of the empty court.

_Thunk…thunk…swish_!

Alfred sunk a few free throws and then missed a few, jogging slowly after the escaped ball and dribbling it back into position. He didn't think about Arthur, or the rape, or the stalker, or the Hallway Project, or about anything.

After an hour of shooting hoops, Alfred realized it was the first time in his life that he'd ever given up. He was surprised at how empty it felt. At some point, he sank tiredly onto the bleachers and clutched the basketball loosely in the circle of his arms. He put his forehead against the bumpy surface. He didn't cry. He wasn't mad.

_It's over_. _It's really over._

"Alfred?"

The blond glanced up, spotting Tony's small form in the darkened doorway.

"Hey, Tony," he said. Tony came further into the gym, almost hesitantly.

"I don't like this place. They stuffed me into a gym locker last time, so this is not a good place."

Alfred glanced at him with a frown.

"Who stuffed you into a locker?"

"The football team."

"Figures. They used to be my friends, you know. I would have given anything to fit in with them. Anything. Now…I don't want anything to do with them. Or Ashley and her gossipy friends. They all suck."

"Agreed. Can we leave now?" Tony asked unemotionally. Alfred swallowed thickly and stood.

"Yeah. We can go."

"Alfred?" Tony asked.

"Hmm?" Alfred replied.

"You can throw pillows again…if you need to."

"Thanks, Tony. It's cool, though. Everything's going to be fine," Alfred said with calm detachment.

"I am not very good at this sort of thing, but even I can see that you are not satisfied with your situation," Tony observed. Alfred idly tossed his basketball up into the air and caught it.

"I fumbled. I missed the shot. I had my moment of glory and it just…slipped through my fingers. Game over. Same old Alfred. It's funny…how everything changes and doesn't at the same time."

"I do not understand your illogical statements," Tony replied, glancing up at him with genuine confusion in his reddish-brown eyes. Alfred just sighed.

"I'm not sitting in the hallway tomorrow. We can watch a movie or something instead," Alfred said flatly. Tony's perplexed look remained, but he shrugged his scrawny shoulders.

"I will have to made adjustments to the schedule, but that can be arranged with minimal inconvenience."

They were nearly out the gym door when Alfred stopped. He turned back, eyeing the basket for a moment. It was an impossible shot. The whole length of the court stretched between him and the basket. He'd lost much of his muscle strength in his upper arms, and he was never a fantastic basketball player to begin with.

He took one hesitant step, then a faster one, then a few running jumps that led to a leap and an animalistic growl of frustration. The ball sailed through the air, weightless, hurtled down the court like it'd been shot out of a cannon.

It hit the rim, bounced to the other side, balanced precariously for a single, breathless moment…and then fell to the ground. No point.

"I guess…it was always a longshot, wasn't it?" Alfred mused quietly, a sad, heartbreaking smile twisting his lips. Tony's frown deepened.

"According to the motivational poster in the locker room, you miss every shot you don't take," Tony replied.

"Or in my case…every shot period. Let's go, Tony. It's been a long day." With a sigh, Alfred hit the lights in the gym, pitching the cavernous room into total darkness. The forgotten basketball rolled out of bounds, no longer worth anything to the boy who'd tried with everything in himself to make the one shot that mattered. He had lost.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **All I'll say is this…have faith. I promise this story _will _end happily. It will.

As always, thank you for sweet reviews. They are lovely and motivating and wonderful. The next chapter will be longer, maybe I'll get it out Sunday? That's the goal at least. Thanks for all the patience!


	30. Love Will Save Us All

**Chapter 30**

The water had long gone cold in the shower, but Arthur still sat in the tub, curled into a very small, tight ball as the liquid ice showered down on him. Memories were assaulting him like a battering ram. For once, his all-powerful, burning hatred for his attacker was overpowered by the hatred he felt for himself.

The stalker had hurt him, true, but _he_ was the one ruining his own life. He was the one ripping apart his first love. Arthur remembered his freshman year, and how desperately he'd loved the confused boy. Back then, he would have given _anything_ just for a chance with Alfred. He'd waited with nothing but hope that Alfred would love him like Arthur loved him, and when that day had come, when Alfred had fought Celio for his honor...even though Arthur felt like he had none...

He sobbed for a solid hour. The flood came out of him like a dam bursting. He cried for himself, he cried for Alfred, and he cried because all the guilt, and hurt, and anger and pain had to come out. He just couldn't keep it inside anymore.

There was a knock on his bathroom door. Then it opened, and Yao came in. Arthur should have been embarrassed to be nude and vulnerable, but he just didn't care.

"Come on, Arthur. Out of the tub," Yao said softly. Arthur let himself be led, like a little boy. It was obvious Yao had become accustomed to mothering. He quickly wrapped Arthur up in a towel and set about righting the mess of things Arthur had initially made in a fit of rage. Arthur sat on the toilet in the towel, his teeth chattering, his cheeks a little blue.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Arthur stuttered. He felt like a block of ice.

"I know. I even know it's not me you're apologizing to."

"I don't deserve him," Arthur said miserably. Yao crouched down in front of him, his slender hands landing on Arthur's shoulders. He forced the green-eyed boy to make eye contact with him.

"People are pretty terrible. We hurt each other. We break things. We're violent and cruel and mean. None of us _deserve_ love, but it saves us all anyway."

"I've hurt him so much. He can't forgive me. He _shouldn't_ forgive me!" Arthur said brokenly. Yao gave his cheek a gentle pat and stood, smiling.

"Maybe not. Maybe he'd be happier with someone else. Is that what you want Arthur?"

Arthur was silent except for his teeth chattering for a long moment. When he answered, it was with a heart-broken sob.

"Yes! I'm not good enough for him anymore! I don't think I ever was."

"You need to put on some clothes. Come on," Yao coaxed. Arthur couldn't shut up, though. It just kept spilling out of him, like pus from a wound.

"He's so good to me and so perfect and sweet and wholesome and I'm...I'm..._this_! Even before the rapist told me I was dirty, I wasn't _good_ enough for him!"

"Arms through, please," Yao said as he gentle manhandled Arthur into a soft, long-sleeved shirt.

"He needs to have someone better. You know I'm right!"

"Arthur, listen to me. You are hysterical right now. You're going to dress, drink some tea, and go to sleep. If you can't do that, we're going to the nurse."

Arthur only then realized that he was hyperventilating. He forcibly calmed himself down.

"That's good. Here, drink your tea."

Arthur's hands were shaking so badly that the hot tea sloshed onto his hand. It was only then he realized how frozen he was.

"Easy," Yao said gently, and held the teacup for him until he could get a few sips down.

"I can't sleep. I need to talk to Alfred. I need to apologize," Arthur said. Yao pulled back his blankets.

"Just relax, Arthur. You need to rest and get warm. I will tell Alfred that you are sorry."

"I need to tell him. He has to know that I want better for him. I never meant to hurt him like I have. I'm so sorry."

"He knows. Lay down, Arthur."

The troubled teen accepted the inevitable and let Yao tuck him in.

"Are you leaving?" Arthur asked. His voice was very small and young sounding.

"I'll stay until your mother comes. She's on her way," Yao said. Arthur was too mentally exhausted to question why his mother was coming, and instead he surrendered to his entrapment. Yao would tell Alfred. Arthur could trust him.

Yao sighed quietly once Arthur finally passed out into a restless slumber. He took his phone out of his pocket and opened a new text message to Alfred.

**Arthur is very upset. He's sorry. He wanted me to tell you that.**

Yao sent the message and waited. He wondered if Alfred would respond. Francis had said he was down in the gym shooting baskets and working off some of his anger, but Tony had left to go find him just as Yao arrived to check on Arthur.

His phone buzzed. A new message.

**Is he okay?** **I don't rly want to see him now.**

Yao knew he had to handle the situation delicately. Alfred had to know Arthur was not just feeling a little regret, but rather he was having a mental breakdown.

**He's not okay. He's trying to sleep now, but he's not okay. I know it's gotten messed up, but it might help if you came by.**

Yao just didn't want Alfred to give up. It was certainly a horrible situation, but Yao liked to believe things were always darkest before the dawn.

The knock on the door came about ten minutes later. Arthur roused from his half-hearted sleep, still muttering apologies.

"Did he come? Is that Alfred?"

"I'll see," Yao replied. He opened the door and sure enough, Alfred was on the other side. He was sweaty and his face was carefully expressionless. His blue eyes were dull and flat—a sharp contrast to their typical sparkle.

"Alfred?" Arthur called out, struggling out from under the heap of blankets. His voice alone, weakened and utterly pathetic, cracked Alfred's mask. His eyes filled with concern and Yao knew all hope was not lost.

Alfred entered the room slowly, leaving Tony out in the hall to peer curiously inside. Yao thought it best to give them privacy. He stepped out.

"I'm s-s-sorry for what I did. I've just been hurting you and hurting you and I can't stop and I'm _sorry_. A thousand times I'm sorry."

"I believe you," Alfred said slowly. After standing awkwardly near the bed for a moment, he took a seat in the chair Yao had abandoned. Arthur wiped at his tears and sniffed rather pathetically. He was starting to feel silly now that Alfred had actually come. The realization hit him that no words could undo the damage he'd done to Alfred and their relationship in the past seven weeks.

"You can't forgive me. I mean...you would...but I can't ask for that. It's asking too much," Arthur said self-consciously. He was clenching the sheets tightly in his fists, unable to look Alfred in the eyes.

"Ask," Alfred said, after a long moment. Arthur shook his head, and fresh tears slipped down his cheeks.

"How can you forgive me if I can't forgive myself?" Arthur asked hollowly. Alfred nodded. He crossed to the bed and sat beside Arthur. He tilted Arthur's face up and wiped away the tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"Do you love me?" Alfred asked, with unusual softness. Arthur's tears came faster.

"Yes. Yes...I know I haven't shown it lately, but _yes_."

"Then ask me."

"Alfred...please forgive me. W-will you?" Arthur sobbed. Alfred could barely understand him.

"Listen to me, okay? I know most of the time I'm full of hot air or stupid ideas but I need you to _really_ hear me right now. I'll fight for you. I'll do whatever it takes. But I have to know you _want_ me to fight."

"I don't deserve that. Don't you get it? Why fight for someone who's dirty? Why do you still want me? You're too good for me. You've always been too good for me," Arthur replied in a rush.

Alfred let his cheeks go after pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Arthur's nose.

"Here. Look," Alfred said. He pulled his wallet out of his gym shorts pocket. From within the wallet he pulled out a photo, white along the places it had been folded, glossy everywhere else.

It was a simple photo, taken during their freshman year. Alfred was making a goofy face and Arthur was pressing a kiss to Alfred's cheek, his eyes closed sweetly in bliss. Arthur wished the photo was a portal that he could step through. He wanted to grab his past self by the shoulders and give him a good shake. How arrogant he'd been. How could he have ever thought that Alfred was the lucky one to have him? All that time he'd thought _he'd_ been the one guiding Alfred...when really all along...Alfred was the one guiding him. Guiding him to be happy. Guiding him to loosen up. Guiding him to love with his heart instead of his head.

It physically hurt him to look at the photo.

"When I first came to this school, I was such a loser. I didn't have a single friend. I was always too loud or too shy, too awkward or too dumb. Nobody, not even my parents, believed I would ever amount to anything. But then you came. You thought I was handsome even when I couldn't bench press a wet noodle. You realized I needed glasses. How did I get through eight years of school without someone realizing I needed glasses? Nobody _wanted_ to help me because I just rubbed everyone the wrong way. Until you. You believed I could make better grades and you helped me, all the time. When I wanted to start a club, you were right there with me. Sure, sometimes you got mad or frustrated with me, but for all the ups and downs...you never missed a game. Not once. You were the first person to really _see_ me as something other than a screw up."

"You've never been a screw up. You're perfect. You've always been perfect," Arthur replied in a harsh whisper.

"Perfect for you...and you're perfect for me. Don't let all this mess people are talking about you and me make you forget the truth. You've made me happier than anyone else in the world. If you don't think I deserve that, then you have the power to take it away, but don't think you'll be doing what's best for me. I'll miss you till the day I die."

Arthur flung his arms around Alfred so tightly that the taller boy thought he might lose blood circulation. Arthur was crying against his chest and Alfred couldn't stop smiling.

"I won't ever take you for granted again. I don't want to hurt you," Arthur promised.

"I know. It's okay to make mistakes. You're human...possibly part book worm," Alfred joked weakly.

"Yao said something strange...he said my mum was coming?" Arthur asked confusedly, as they pulled away from the hug. Alfred gave him a small smile.

"Yeah, she knows about the Hallway Project. Your family made a big donation. Your mom was going to sit with me Friday...well, today now," Alfred said after a glance at his watch. "That was the big surprise."

"I almost showed up...with Celio...my mum would have _killed_ me," Arthur realized in horror. Alfred winced at the name.

"Did you...really sleep with him?"

Arthur miserably nodded his head. "I knew it was wrong. I kept screaming at myself to stop but I just...felt so helpless. Everything felt out of control and I couldn't just make it all _stop_. It didn't work. I still feel..." Arthur stopped, as if he couldn't physically say the words. It was hard for Alfred to keep an open mind, because his jealousy felt like a monster inside him that wanted to smash things, but he needed to hear what Arthur had to say.

"What? What made you do that? What made you want to do it with me?"

"I feel like a _whore_. I have all these awful nightmares but sometimes they become wet dreams and I...I've had fantasies about what happened, only it's _you_, and it's so _wrong_ but I can't help it! I'm scared to sleep, scared to touch you. I keep watching the video and thinking about _him_ watching it, and _you_ watching it..."

Instead of talking, Alfred captured Arthur's mouth in a heated kiss. It wasn't sweet or chaste—rather it was a hot, open mouthed, hungry kiss that went straight to Arthur's cock. The clothes came off hurriedly, gym shorts kicked off, shirts stripped and thrown half way across the room. Alfred's mouth went everywhere, over Arthur's vulnerable throat and his aching nipples and his sweat-slicked ribs.

"Alfred—"

"Artie...enough talking. Stop thinking. Just feel _me_."

So Arthur did. The room fell silent, except for Arthur's quiet panting and the noises of Alfred's tongue and lips working over Arthur's hardened cock. Alfred comforted him by the way he grabbed Arthur's hand and laced their fingers together. Only Alfred did that. When he smiled up at Arthur, love shining in his eyes, Arthur could think of nothing but one word, over and over again, louder than all the guilt and shame.

_Beautiful...beautiful...beautiful..._

Arthur's hand tangled up in Alfred's silky, thick blond hair, still a little sweaty, heavy as it slipped through his fingers, and that adorable, persistent cowlick still standing proud, unwilling to bend to Arthur's petting. That was all Alfred, too.

Just the two of them together, and no room for any of Arthur's ghosts.

* * *

><p>Yao gave them an hour and then he knocked softly. Tony had left, and truthfully, he wanted to leave, too. He figured they'd both fallen asleep, but shortly after his knock, Alfred opened the door fully dressed and still very serious looking. Behind him, Arthur was sleeping heavily—peaceful and unburdened of his guilt.<p>

"Is everything okay?" Yao asked.

"You kids need to get to your rooms. This _is_ against the rules, you know," Mike intoned dryly from behind his computer. Alfred glanced at him, but dismissed him just as quickly. Mike was too interested in his game of Minesweeper to actually enforce any curfew rules.

"He's better, I think. We talked some. I don't exactly know where we stand, but I finally got through...I think."

"I knew you would," Yao said with a relieved smile. "Are _you_ okay?"

"I thought...I thought I'd lost him today. I thought he didn't want me. A lot has happened and a big part of me is still really hurt...but I don't want to lose him. He's my...well...my Arthur."

"I understand," Yao said. They were interrupted by the arrival of Franklin, who took his job of guarding the hallway and Arthur's sleep more seriously than Mike did. Both Alfred and Yao decided not to linger any longer.

"So, will you be in the hallway tomorrow with Arthur's mother?" Yao asked. Alfred gave Yao a sleepy smile and a thumbs up.

"Yeah. I think this time, Arthur will be waiting for _me_."

The two friends parted with smiles.

* * *

><p>It didn't take much convincing for Ivan to talk Alfred into ditching school after second period.<p>

As they sat in the darkened theater of an R-rated movie (they'd sneaked in after buying tickets to a kid film), Ivan provided friendly support in the only way he knew how.

"I hear rumors that you've turned into a little bitch."

"Shut up. Gimme the popcorn!"

"I bought it. My popcorn."

"Ugh, whatever."

"Is it true? You crying all the time like a little baby?" Ivan asked with a darkly amused grin. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Yes. I'm a twelve-year-old girl. Is that what you want me to say?"

"Da," Ivan confirmed. Alfred pouted.

"I've been going through a lot. So what if I cried in the hallway?"

"I'm just embarrassed for you, that's all. I guess it could be interesting though...having a vagina during sex. How is it?" Ivan asked. He generously allowed Alfred to take a handful of popcorn.

"Amazing. I think your mom had a good time last night—OW!" Alfred cried out as Ivan's fist impacted painfully with Alfred's shoulder.

"Keep talking. I'll make you _really_ cry," Ivan threatened playfully...though his creepy smile would have scared the shit out of anyone but Alfred.

"Shut up. This is a good part," Alfred retorted. They watched the sex scene play out for a few moments before Ivan's voice grew thoughtful.

"If anyone gives you shit, just punch their fucking faces in," Ivan advised. Alfred rolled his eyes again.

"Alright, hold still and I'll do my best."

"Not me, you idiot. I get to make fun of you because we are brothers. If anyone _else_ makes fun of you...then you punch their faces in. I will help."

"Thanks, Ivan, but it's whatever. So people make fun of me. What else is new? This time it'll be because I cried. Next time it'll be because I drop a pass. Or fail a test. Or say something stupid in class. When do people _not_ have shit to talk about me?"

"Still. I'd hit them."

"It won't fix what's wrong with them. It'll just make them even uglier to look at."

They watched the movie almost till the end before Ivan gave most of the popcorn to Alfred and said, "I was thinking..."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"You're _so_ funny with your American humor. One day I'll bury you in my backyard," Ivan said with a cheerful smile. Alfred smirked and swallowed a mouthful of popcorn without barely chewing.

"I was thinking...that you are a man I admire...despite being a twelve-year-old girl."

"Awww, careful, Ivan. Your gay is showing. You're getting sappy on me," Alfred teased with a smile. "Just admit it. You think I'm the shit. You'd probably have my babies or something if you could."

Another punch was all he got for his teasing. The credits began to roll.

"Come on. I gotta be in the hall soon. Arthur's mom is going to be there. Can you drop me off at the store?"

"Yeah, sure."

Ivan dropped him at the grocery store and Alfred started to load up his basket with the junk food he couldn't buy in the cafeteria, and some of Arthur's favorite cookies. They were the fancy little ones meant for old ladies to serve at their tea parties, but Arthur would eat a whole tin on his own and he'd even hide them from Alfred. Anything else he happily shared, so Alfred knew the bland little cookies were his favorites. What he'd really come for were some flowers. He took a long time to pick out ones he thought Mrs. Kirkland would like. Considering the money she was donating, and the way she was coming simply because he'd asked her, Alfred thought it was the least he could do.

"Um...excuse me, mam. Can I ask you something?" Alfred said to a nearby woman doing her shopping. She arched a brow and gave him a look as if she might recognize him.

"Yes?"

"These are flowers you could give to someone to say thanks, right? I mean, they're not like...flowers you give when someone's dead or something?"

"Uh...no. Those should be fine," she reassured. Alfred smiled hugely.

"Oh, good. Thanks!" With a bright smile, he took off for the checkout line, the crazy colored daisies tucked under his arm. They were died purple, blue, yellow, and green, and they were sprinkled with glitter. Alfred thought they were nice—girls liked glitter, right?

His phone vibrated in his pants pocket and he pulled it out while he waited his turn to check out. He had a text from Arthur.

**Are you coming back to campus? Mum says she'll be in the hall. Says you invited her?**

Alfred bit his lip, a little nervous that he had messed up somehow.

**Are you mad?**

Alfred sent the question and waited, but his turn came and so he had to finish checking out before he could check Arthur's reply.

**It was sweet of you. I think we still need to talk, but I love you. So much. **

Alfred smiled a goofy smile and shifted his bag of groceries to his other hand to reply, being careful with the flowers. It was a brief walk back to the school, and Alfred was glad Ivan hadn't waited for him. It was a good day for a walk, and Alfred felt like enjoying the spring sunshine. Winter had felt never-ending. He started to text Arthur back, completely absorbed in his phone, until his world exploded in pain.

Alfred hit the ground hard and felt the steel-toe boot bury into his ribs. Alfred knew the bones had broken as it was instantly painful to breathe. He saw the sun flash blindingly off a metal baseball bat as it came arching down towards him again. He curled up defensively even as his brain screamed at him—

_It's HIM! I have to tell...have to tell..._

Then Alfred blacked out.

* * *

><p>Arthur took a deep breath. It shouldn't be as hard as it was to walk down a simple hall, but his mother had left to go join the crowd some time ago and Arthur was still in his room, just trying to prepare himself.<p>

He could do it. He would open the door and Alfred would be waiting for him. He would block everyone else and he would go to Alfred. No matter what the press said or what students asked, no matter how many people said "I'm sorry" or "It's going to be okay"...he was going to be fine because Alfred would be by his side. He could face what had happened to him and he could talk about it—stand up for himself—because Alfred would hold his hand and he knew the other boy wouldn't let him fall.

He opened the door. The hallway was so _full_. Had it always been so full? The flashes of light exploded as the cameras began going off, because everyone anticipated that today would be the day. It was early. Mike had not even come on duty yet. Surely Alfred would be early today, though, since everyone else was and he _had_ invited his mum.

That thought made Arthur feel a little like melting inside. His parents were quiet people. They didn't pander to the paparazzi, though it was naturally a part of their public lives. It was rare that his mother supported a cause. If she had come to the Hallway Project, if she thought it was good for him, then Arthur could finally trust that it was. His mother wouldn't have come to support something that would make him worse off than he'd been before. Arthur still had lingering fears about taunting the stalker, fears that grew more solid by the day, but everything had been quiet since Christmas. No threats. No more videos. Just Alfred and all his friends sitting outside his door and waiting for him to come to terms with everything.

He was ready. He'd hurt everyone, himself included, enough for a lifetime.

He saw Francis first, talking quietly with his mother in that charming way she'd always loved. Matthew stood with them, and the three flashed him warm, encouraging smiles. The hallway was covered in posters of support, messages from people Arthur knew and from those who were total strangers. He'd sneered at them on principal before, but now he cautiously made his way over to the closest one.

**Healing yourself is connected to healing others. You're story has helped me tell my boyfriend what happened to me. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for coming back. **

Arthur swallowed thickly. The sign near that one was written for Alfred.

**Stay strong, Alfie! You're a knight in shining armor!**

_'Truer words were never written,' _Arthur thought with a fond smile. He looked down the hallway, seeing for the first time the massive show of support. People he didn't know. People he did know. Other victims, others who just cared, others who wanted him and Alfred to have a happy ending. They hadn't seen a very good side of him lately. They'd seen him at his absolute worst...yet they were all still there.

So much of the time it seemed like high school was just a place where young people learned how to most effectively tear each other apart and perfect the art of cruelty to each other, but filling up his hallway was something good. Rare, and special, and powerful.

But Alfred was not among them. Everyone was staring at him, waiting, and even if Alfred was not there, he had to say something. He cleared his throat.

"I guess now it's my turn to wait for Alfred. Err...he _is_ coming today, right?" Arthur asked, only a little self-consciously. Everyone laughed. The idea that Alfred would _not_ come was absurd. Their faith in him was unwavering, and Arthur was more than a little satisfied to see that now others saw Alfred as he saw him—a hero. No matter what else, Alfred could be trusted to do the right thing, and to come through on his promises.

Arthur continued, reaching deep into his heart for the words.

"I've seen everyone out here and, honestly, it didn't always make me feel good. I've been angry, and scared, and sometimes I feel like I've lost myself. I'm incredibly blessed to have friends who put all of this together, who have been there for me both in public and in private, as I've tried to make sense of all this." Arthur looked to Francis, who smiled at him softly, pride shining in his eyes. "Thank you for your patience with me, and your unwavering support. I would be honored if I could join you...that is, if you'll still have me."

His mum held out her arms and Arthur closed the few feet of distance to hug her tightly.

"I'm _so_ proud of you, Arthur. You're so very, very brave."

In the midst of all this, Arthur felt his phone vibrate. He pulled away from his mother's embrace, smiling to see it was Alfred calling. He accepted the call with a shaky smile.

"Hullo?" he said.

"_This was his most recent call. Look, I hate to tell you this, but whoever owned this phone was mugged. They're loading him up in the ambulance right now. He's not doing so good, so you should call his parents or something," _the random voice on the line didn't register. Arthur stood, not moving, trying to accept what he'd just heard. Finally, his voice started working without help from his brain.

"What? Blond teen? Blue eyes? Alfred Jones?"

"_Oh, Jesus, I don't know, man. He's really bloody. I can't even tell what color his hair is. There's some busted glasses on the sidewalk. He bought a ton of candy bars, and tinned cookies..."_

At the random mention of his favorite cookies, realization hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. He pocketed the phone and took off at a dead run for the parking lot.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Couldn't make you wait till Sunday. You seemed to really feel for Alfred last chapter, and I'm really glad that he emotionally connected, but at the end of the day, Alfred isn't the sort of boy who'd settle for anyone other than his true love. For Alfred, it will only ever be Arthur. He's in far too deep to walk away unless that's what Arthur asked of him.


	31. Here For You

**Chapter 31**

Arthur didn't really remember getting from the school to the hospital. He went by cab and he was pretty sure he overpaid the cab driver by about a hundred bucks, but that was the last thing on his mind. When he got there, he ran to the nurse's station in the ER. Things seemed fairly quiet, with only a construction worker and a mother with two small children waiting to be called back.

"I'm here for a boy—caller said he was mugged—seventeen, blond hair, blue eyes—" Arthur panted. The nurse's eyes widened in recognition and she began typing on her computer screen.

"Relation to the patient?"

"I'm his boyfriend," Arthur replied, without thinking about technicalities.

"Does he have any relatives?"

"Yes. The President. The boy you're currently treating is Alfred Jones," Arthur said. If there was ever a time to use fame to get better service, this was it.

"Have his parents been contacted?" she asked immediately.

"I'll call them," Arthur said. As the nurse rushed off to let the other staff know what they were dealing with, Arthur searched through his contacts for Helen's number. It went straight to voicemail. Cursing mentally, Arthur panicked about what to say.

"_You've reached the voicemail of Helen Jones. Please leave your message after the beep."_

"Mrs. Jones, this is Arthur. I'm at the hospital right now. I got a call from someone saying that Alfred had been mugged and that there was quite a bit of blood. I don't have anymore information as of yet, but please get here soon."

Arthur called his own mother next. She was steady and reassuring like always, assuring him she was on her way and that he needed to keep calm until she arrived. No sooner had he ended the call with his mother, hospital security appeared and he was escorted out of the ER, to a private waiting room deeper within the hospital. It seemed the regular police had been called as well, as Arthur was left in the company of a rather burly police officer named David, who seemed completely unflappable. He also had no clue what was going on with Alfred.

"Will I be able to see him soon?" Arthur asked.

"I do not know, Sir. I'm sure the doctors will come to speak to you once his family has arrived."

"Can't _you_ go find out his status? Surely you can understand—Alfred is very special to me. He _has _to be okay. Please. Anything you can find out…" but the officer merely stood his guard at the door and shook his head. Frustrated and scared, Arthur dropped into one of the plushy chairs and held his head in his hands. He stayed in that position, his mind racing from one dark thought to another, until his mother arrived, followed almost immediately by the President. With Richard's arrival, a doctor finally made an appearance. He looked harried, as if he'd been working very hard without any breaks. Arthur dully realized it had been over two hours already.

The doctor shook the President's hand. "I'm Doctor Alaniz. Your son is alive, and we finally got him stable enough to move him to the ICU."

"What's happened? We were told he was mugged. Where was his security team? The school didn't even know he was off campus," Richard said rather angrily. The doctor seemed quite accustomed to dealing with flustered family members and merely nodded.

"I don't have any information pertaining to why he was off campus alone, but I can tell you that he was struck in the head with a metal baseball bat, and he was kicked in the ribs. Two of them are cracked. He suffered some other lacerations and bruising, but our main concern is the head wound. He was _very_ lucky," the doctor said with a grim smile. Richard narrowed his eyes.

"I think you and I might have a different definition of the word lucky," Richard said, still in that tight, angry voice. Helen arrived then, and she was completely off the handle. Arthur suspected she'd been a little tipsy before checking her messages. She was hysterical and crying, and the CIA operative escorting her seemed concerned. Arthur ducked his head into his mother's comforting shoulder and closed his eyes, clenching her hand and just listening to all the chaos and confusion that unfolded as both Richard and the doctor tried to calm down Helen and explain the situation all over again.

All Arthur got from it was that Alfred had come out of unconsciousness when the medic team arrived and, despite his rather frightening head wound, had rated highly on a scale of mental responsiveness. This was a good indicator, but they had decided surgery was necessary due to continued swelling in his brain and the depressed break of his skull. The doctor was careful to give them enough optimism so that they didn't lose all hope, but he didn't shy away from telling them that Alfred was in very serious condition and it could turn ugly at any moment.

"Can I see him now?" Richard asked. Helen was a crying mess, and Arthur's mother had left his side to go comfort her. Arthur quietly joined Richard's side, hoping he'd be allowed back, too, since Helen was clearly in no condition to go.

"For a moment, yes, but I warn you that it will not be pretty. He's in a controlled coma right now, in preparation for the surgery, but he will likely still be comforted by familiar voices. You can talk to him."

"Be honest with me here, doctor. Should I…should I be saying my goodbyes?" Richard asked in a very vulnerable voice. It made giant tears spring up in Arthur's eyes. If the President was shaken and scared, then Arthur realized there was something to be scared about. Arthur waited for the doctor to brush off Richard's question as ridiculous—because Alfred was going to be just fine—but the doctor very gravely advised Richard to use the time wisely. As hopeful as they were, nothing was certain.

Arthur was allowed to go. He followed behind the broad shouldered president in a daze. The hospital was a blur of white and pastel blues and greens. The nurses darted up and down hallways and around corners like little white fish in a tide pool. The random beeping of monitoring equipment echoed eerily down the hallways, and the assaulting smell of astringent stung Arthur's nose.

He thought of his own trip to the hospital after his attack, and the threatening memories made him wish Francis or Yao was there with him. He felt like he was going to shatter and fall apart.

Arthur must not have been the only one. When they reached the room, surprisingly, Richard found Arthur's shoulder and squeezed it rather hard, as if he would lose it otherwise. Alfred was hooked up to a mess of machinery and wire, with a large tube coming out of the back of his head. He was bloodied to the point of being unrecognizable, shirtless with his chest heavily bandaged, broken fingers in splints, and a breathing tube in his nose.

"Oh, Alfie," Richard said hollowly. Arthur could barely keep from buckling under the weight of the large man's hand. He grimaced, and wiped at the tears spilling all over his face.

Arthur stood waiting as Richard got as close to the bed as he dared. His college alumni ring glittered on his hand next to his wedding band as he hesitantly touched Alfred's calf under the sheet.

"Son? Son, can you hear me?" Richard asked. There was no response, but Arthur thought he saw Alfred's eyes moving underneath his lids. Arthur wished he could step outside. He didn't want to see Alfred like that, and he didn't want to hear what Richard would choose as the last possible words to give to his son. It was all too much, and too private, and Arthur couldn't do it. He left the glass encased room and slid to the floor outside the door, pressing his eyes shut tightly and trying to block out all those horrible beeping noises. A small eternity passed and then Richard came out.

"Go on in. He would want…Alfie would want…" Richard couldn't finish his sentence, but Arthur knew the truth in his words. He owed it to Alfred to be strong for him. Alfred needed him…and he needed Alfred to know.

He walked to Alfred's side, not even phased by all the nurses bustling around the bed in a perfectly unified dance.

"Alfred…it's me. I'm here." Arthur gently rested his fingertips on Alfred's unresponsive hand. He felt quite suddenly as if Alfred were the princess, asleep in a glass coffin, and he wondered for a childish moment if true love's kiss would do him any good at all. He started to cry. Before the nurses could tell him not to, Arthur leaned over and kissed what was likely Alfred's cheek, but with all the bandaging and the blood it was hard to tell.

"I love you, Alfred Jones. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me," Arthur whispered harshly before he left, and Richard caught him outside the room and hugged him tightly. They stood like that for a long time, and Arthur realized that in a few years, Alfred would look just like his father—strong and broad shouldered, with a firm grip and a dazzling smile. At least, he would have, if this attack didn't take everything away.

"You made him happy. He loved you. Anyone could see that. I should have been happy for him. God knows how many nights I spent worrying he'd never fit in—that he'd never find someone to see just how damned special he was…I owe you both an apology. If he survives this, I promise I'll make it up to him. All those years I kept my distance…all that time I let him think he wasn't good enough…I was _so_ wrong. So terribly wrong."

Arthur nodded weakly against the tall man's chest and felt himself being squeezed one final time before Richard released him. Alfred's father still kept a firm grip on Arthur's shoulder as they returned to the room. Helen had cried herself out and was passed out harmlessly against Arthur's mother.

"She was at a charity luncheon—she always drinks too much at those. I'm sorry," Richard said a bit helplessly. Mary just shushed him and shook her head.

"She's fine. Don't you fret. We mothers have trouble staying strong when our babies are hurt," she said with a sympathetic smile at Arthur. He crossed to where she sat and took the seat on the other side of her. He rested his head against her shoulder again, just staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Time crawled.

People came and went—all Richard and Helen's friends and relatives—and at some point, two cots were brought for Alfred's parents. Mary and Arthur had to go home. Helen had awoken by that point and regained some of her senses. She promised Arthur he could come back tomorrow if he wanted, or if it was too much, she'd call him whenever they heard anything new.

So they left, tired and exhausted, only to face the swell of paparazzi as they exited the hospital. They were engulfed by CIA and escorted to the White House, where they were given the Queen's Room. Arthur, however, left his mother to get settled and made a bee line for Alfred's room.

His cat meowed plaintively at him from Alfred's bed.

"Hullo, Ellie," Arthur said, greeting the big, fluffy white cat. She had a dark ring of fur around her neck and some darker spots on her tail. She was very fond of Arthur. When he'd visited earlier in the summer, Ellie had followed him like a shadow. Now that he was busy with school, Alfred didn't see her much. She'd mostly become Helen's cat.

"Meoooow!"

"I know, girl. You can tell something's wrong, can't you? Come here, poppet," Arthur said gently, as he scooped her into his arms. The room _smelled_ like Alfred. Arthur hugged the cat for awhile, soaking up the comfort she offered, and then returned her to the bed. He dug around in Alfred's dresser until he found some forgotten pajamas and pants. He found one of Alfred's numerous super hero shirts—soft and worn with use and love—and pressed it to his face to feel Alfred's warmth against his cheeks and lips again. He ended up on the bed, sobbing into the shirt, and wishing it was Alfred.

The shirt was far too large on him, but without it, he likely never would have slept. Wrapped in Alfred's smell and feel, he could pretend he was not alone in the bed and drift off after he'd cried himself dry.

* * *

><p>Two weeks. It felt like a small eternity. Things were going on at school—finals and dances and games—but Arthur wasn't there for any of it. Alfred's hospital room had become his second home. It was filled with bright balloons, cards, and get-well-soon gifts. Trusted friends came and went, and Alfred's mother kept him constant company. Together they delighted each time Alfred stayed awake a little longer, or managed to speak sensibly. He mostly asked questions about where he was, and what had happened to him, but he knew who they were and he remembered who he was.<p>

He forgot other things, though, like how to drink from a glass, or what to do with a fork.

"Like this, love," Arthur said softly as he coaxed Alfred into lifting his water glass. Helen was sitting comfortably nearby, tapping away on her laptop. She'd turned part of Alfred's large suite into a miniature office and worked and slept there. Arthur stayed, too, partially because he didn't want to leave Alfred's side and partially because he was too frightened to go back to the school alone.

The bat that had been used to attack Alfred was his own—indicating what Arthur had already long suspected. There was a horrible breach in World Academy's security. At the time of Alfred's attack, he had been alone due to the fact that he'd skipped school with Ivan that day. Arthur had known he was skipping class, and he'd wanted to chastise him for it, but he hadn't because things were still so fragile between them and the last thing he'd wanted to do was nag.

He should have reminded Alfred to stay with Ivan, or to call his security team to let them know he was out running errands. There were many things Arthur _should_ have done, but didn't, and now he simply had to let the mistakes of the past go.

"Arthur, I need to tell you something," Alfred said slowly and carefully. It was difficult for him to speak clearly at first, but he was getting better and better every day. The doctors said it was a minor miracle that he was recovering so well from the kind of injury he'd sustained.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, carefully setting down the water glass. He sat on Alfred's bedside, where there were blessedly few wires and monitors now. The shunt was removed from Alfred's head, and aside from heavy bandaging, Alfred was recognizable again. He still had a rather nasty black eye and a busted lip, though.

"I remember…something…cookies," Alfred said, clearly drifting in and out of awareness as he spoke.

"You remembered something about cookies? You were buying me cookies just before the attack. Is that what you mean?" Arthur prompted. They had this discussion at least three or four times a day, but Arthur never ran out of patience. It kind of surprised him just how nurturing he could be. It was clearly a relief to Helen. While she was there and did what the nurses asked, it was clear she struggled to give Alfred what he needed. It was almost like she was blocked, or simply didn't know how. Arthur, however, was a natural. So much so that the nurses said he needed to go into nursing.

Arthur figured it was just because the patient was his beloved.

"I got you your favorites. Did you eat them already?" Alfred asked.

"No, love, they didn't bring the cookies with you to the hospital. Would you like some cookies?"

"No. More water, please," Alfred said, as if he were a little disappointed. Likely because he'd failed yet again to remember what he wanted to tell Arthur, or because it saddened him that Arthur hadn't gotten to eat his romantic surprise.

"Here," Arthur said. "You can hold your glass," Arthur said. He would do anything for Alfred, of course, but he wanted Alfred to regain independence. That meant he needed to be pushed a little. Alfred took the glass and stared at it blankly for a few moments before he surprised Arthur and Helen both by actually lifting the glass to his lips and drinking from it. Arthur turned towards Helen with a huge smile, which she mirrored.

"Just like that! That's fantastic, Alfred," Arthur said, beaming. Alfred swallowed some more of his water and put it down on his bed tray. He lifted his hand to Arthur's cheek, two of his fingers still taped together and splinted, and gave Arthur a rather soft caress.

"I'm the luckiest guy in the world, huh?" he asked sweetly. Arthur leaned into the touch and smiled.

"No, that's my line," Arthur leaned forward without hesitation and softly kissed Alfred's lips. At first, he shied away from physical contact in front of Helen, but it soon became obvious that the little touches and kisses seemed to make Alfred better. His eyes sparkled and he became more clear headed. Arthur had always loved fairy tales as a boy, and he thought secretly that there was something to be said for the healing power of true love kisses after all.

* * *

><p>Matthew and Francis smiled warmly at Alfred as they entered his hospital room.<p>

"How is the patient today?" Francis asked. He came bearing a spray of pink and yellow roses. Matthew brought a bag of cheeseburgers. Alfred lit up at the sight of the cheeseburgers while Arthur rolled his eyes and got some fresh water for the roses. Helen was out, but only for awhile. She still went home occasionally to manage things at the White House and sleep a bit or change. Arthur, however, pretty much lived in Alfred's hospital room, which was under guard 24/7. He knew he was hiding away, but he couldn't leave Alfred. Not even for a second.

It had been three weeks, but Alfred's prognosis was very good. His ribs were healing, and he became clearer and more alert each day. The doctors were relieved—none of them wished to be responsible for losing the president's son on their watch, and the nurses claimed it was Arthur's faithful attention that was healing the teen.

"Hi Mattie! Those are for me, right?" Alfred commented happily. He got excited over each new get-well gift, but he especially loved those who brought him fast food.

"All for you, and a salad for Arthur," Matthew said. Alfred still moved a little sluggishly, but Arthur had pretty much gotten used to it. In reality, before the attack, Alfred had been so hyper that it seemed like he did everything doubly fast. Now he just seemed like he moved at a more calm, regular speed. It was still a little off-putting at times, though. Despite his obvious joy, Alfred was very slow about unwrapping his first burger. He had to consciously focus on how he moved and what the things around him did. He tried very hard to be "normal" though—for Arthur's sake. He could see how it upset the other boy when he forgot things he was supposed to know, even if Arthur tried to hide it.

Arthur smiled at him in pride as he managed to eat the first burger all on his own, with no mishaps or spills.

"We've got some big news," Francis said with a smile.

"Oh?" Arthur asked. The roses really were lovely. He suspected Francis had brought them more for Arthur's sake than for Alfred's.

"The police arrested Franklin. Something didn't check out with his alibi for when Alfred was attacked," Matthew said. Arthur's hands froze on the roses, and in his bed, Alfred frowned. Any talk of the attack troubled Alfred now. He couldn't remember what happened to him leading up to the attack or after it. The last thing he remembered was sneaking into a movie with Ivan. As the days had passed, he'd forgotten about buying Arthur the tin of cookies or the flowers for Mrs. Kirkland.

"I suppose that _is_ suspicious…but I just don't think it was him. It doesn't feel right," Arthur said quietly. Francis and Matthew exchanged a look.

"They investigated Celio as you asked, Arthur, but his alibi came through," Francis said.

"Gabriel is covering for him. I just know it," Arthur spat in disgust. Matthew sighed and Alfred began to carefully eat his second burger.

"You _really_ think it's him?" Matthew asked.

"I don't know. I just wish his alibi was a little more solid. For some reason, it was easy to trust Franklin. He could have hurt me plenty of times but he…well…I suppose you can't _really_ know anyone," Arthur said sadly.

"Arthur," Alfred said. Arthur turned instantly, distracted away from the roses.

"Yes, love?" he asked, moving to the bedside. Alfred looked embarrassed as he held the food in his hands. His hands were shaking. His brows knitted together and Arthur could see the frustration there, plain as day. "Are you still feeling hungry?" he asked gently. Alfred nodded, but his movements were even more sluggish than normal. Mathew and Francis exchanged worried looks.

"Yeeeessss," Alfred replied, but the word stretched unnaturally and he began to sweat with exertion. Arthur gently sat beside him and took Alfred's face into his hands, breaking his concentration on the burger.

"If you're still hungry, you should eat another burger. If you're not feeling well, we can save it for later," Arthur wiped the sweat off Alfred's brow with a spare napkin and then kissed the other boy where he was furrowing his eyebrows in frustration.

"Mmmm—mm—" Alfred said, clearly still trying to push himself to say something.

"McDonalds?" Matthew suggested helplessly. Sympathetically, Francis held Matthew's hand. It was hard to see Alfred like that.

"Mmm—mmm!" Alfred insisted. His heart rate began to elevate and Arthur calmed him down the best way he knew. Softly, he began to sing a silly little lullaby his mother had sang to him as a boy. He carded his fingers through Alfred's oily bangs and eased him back down against his pillows. The song worked like magic and the stress eased off Alfred's face.

"I'm not done eating," Alfred said, as if he were a little confused as to why Arthur was singing him to sleep. His voice sounded almost normal again, and Arthur sighed in relief.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Eat your fill, love," Arthur said. He moved back a bit and Alfred more confidently brought the burger up to his mouth.

"Should we go?" Matthew asked nervously. Arthur gave a small shrug.

"He seems okay now, don't you Alfred?"

Alfred flashed a smile at Matthew and swallowed the last of the burger.

"Thanks for the food, Mattie!" he said brightly. Matthew relaxed a bit and smiled back.

"Any time, Alfie. Do you want me to read you my latest story? You'll like it. I wrote it just for you," Matthew offered. Alfred smiled in delight and patted the side of the bed where Arthur wasn't sitting.

"Yeah! Too slow to play video games. You gotta save me from boredom!" Alfred said. Matthew smiled and pulled out a fairly thick stack of printed pages. Arthur smiled in gratitude. The stories Matthew told were all ones he'd written specifically for Alfred—stories about things they'd done together in the past two years, inside jokes they'd shared, and memories that were positive and happy. At first, Alfred hadn't remembered any of them, but now he could add his own details to the retellings and ask questions about things that happened afterwards, if his memory was still fuzzy.

It also took at least an hour, and allowed Arthur the chance to shower and clean up a bit. He headed to the connected restroom with some fresh clothes. Francis settled in to read a magazine, half listening to the old stories Matthew was spinning.

When Arthur emerged from the shower, Helen was back with more food and entertainment. She'd brought some new movies and before Matthew and Francis left, they all watched a movie together. When it was done, visiting hours were almost over and it was time for Alfred's dinner and sponge bath.

Matthew hugged Alfred before he left, being mindful of all the bandages and monitors. Francis hugged Arthur and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

"Hang in there, Arthur. You are a hero, you know that? A fitting pair, the two of you," Francis asked with a proud smile. Arthur just blushed and rolled his eyes.

"Well, Alfred can't get all the glory all the time, now can he?" Arthur replied. The two friends left and the nurse came in. Helen stepped out once more. In the beginning, she'd stayed, but once Alfred was feeling more like himself he'd been embarrassed when his mother stayed while he was changed or cleaned. He'd made a fuss about Arthur having to help bathe him, too, but Arthur had rather wickedly whispered in his ear that he enjoyed taking care of him and that was the end of that.

Arthur and the nurse made a good team. They efficiently changed the sheets (Alfred was still not coordinated enough to stand without practically being held yet) and Arthur began to help wash away the grime and oil. They couldn't get to Alfred's hair very well because of the bandaging, but they did the best they could.

They let Alfred brush his teeth all on his own—a task which had taken him almost the full three weeks to relearn. After Alfred was done with his teeth brushing, the doctor popped in.

"How's my miracle patient tonight?" the neurosurgeon asked brightly. Alfred smiled at him and said hello. The doctor greeted Helen and Arthur by name and then settled onto a rolling chair. He flipped through Alfred's papers a bit, checked the surgery site on the back of his head, and asked him how his ribs felt.

"It's all looking really great. I've talked it over with the team and we think Alfred will be able to go home after another week. What do you think of that, Alfred?"

"That's great," Alfred said honestly. He hated being cooped up anywhere, and that hadn't changed after the attack.

"What about his physical therapy?" Helen asked.

"That would continue at home, of course, with a nurse that would come by daily. We'll give you some exercises you can do with him—you know most of them already—and he'll need to have a hospital bed at home. Other than that, he'll need to come back in ten days or so to have the sutures removed."

"Will he be able to walk by then?" Helen asked doubtfully.

"Yes, we think so. The muscle is there—it's just weak. He just needs practice. The physical therapist will have him up and moving before we release him. Did you have any other questions?" he asked with a friendly smile. He was a nice guy, and they'd gotten to know him fairly well in the three weeks they'd been there. Helen shook her head no and Arthur worried his bottom lip.

"Just one…will Alfred ever be able to remember the attack?" Arthur asked. He knew it troubled Alfred greatly that such a crucial (though painful) memory was simply missing. If Alfred could remember, it also meant they'd know for sure who was trying to torment them. Understanding Arthur's desperation, the doctor frowned in sympathy.

"I know it's hard, but it's very common for trauma victims to forget the attack. His recall of other memories has been extremely impressive though, and he's bouncing back so quickly, that I'd be willing to bet Alfred will eventually recover the memory. It's just going to take time."

"Thank you, Doctor," Arthur said. He squeezed Alfred's hand, and his boyfriend flashed him a sad smile.

"Alright then, well you guys have a good night and you just call if you need anything," the doctor said before he left for the evening.

One more week. That would mean they'd both been out of school for a full month. Arthur had been doing his school work religiously and essentially doing Alfred's for him. Mr. Allowick came twice a week to collect their assignments and check up on Alfred, and he repeatedly told Arthur not to worry—both of them would be moving on to the next grade. Everyone felt pretty horrible about what had happened to them, and the school's lack of security was partially to blame.

"Mom, why don't you go home for the night? That cot can't be comfortable," Alfred said caringly. Helen looked highly tempted by the offer. Arthur was quick to encourage her.

"We'll be fine. I won't leave his side, and I'm a light sleeper, you know," Arthur reminded. Most nights, Helen passed out like a log anyway. Arthur was the one to get Alfred whatever he needed in the night.

"If you're sure…I would like to spend some time with Richard. He's been holding down the fort on his own and I can give him a break for a few hours if I head home now. You sure you boys will be alright?" she asked. Arthur and Alfred both nodded. A little reluctantly, Helen finally agreed and left with the dirty laundry.

"Finally!" Alfred joked. "Now come over here so I can kiss you properly," Alfred said. Arthur felt the warmth and the love of Alfred's words wash over him like stepping into a warm shower. He couldn't think about how close he'd come to losing his boy. It was too painful to imagine a life where Alfred's voice didn't drop a little lower and huskily beg him for kisses.

Arthur crawled up beside Alfred on the bed, mindful of his IV, and gently kissed the other boy on the lips. He felt the scab of Alfred's busted lip, but he was as gentle as he could possibly be. It was Alfred who deepened the kiss and sucked Arthur's bottom lip until he yielded and let their tongues battle sensuously. Alfred's good hand rubbed up Arthur's side, under his shirt, feeling the dip between each rib.

"Too skinny, honey," Alfred said when they broke apart. Alfred was breathing heavily, clearly a little winded by the heightened activity. Arthur smiled. It had been a long time since Alfred called him a sappy pet name. Arthur had thought he'd finally broken the other boy out of the habit. Now though, he didn't mind so much.

"I eat plenty," Arthur replied. Alfred's hand continued to caress his side and Arthur wanted to strip off all his clothes and lay in Alfred's arms. It had been _so_ long. They didn't have to have sex, but he just wanted to feel his boyfriend's touch, skin to skin.

"I love you, Artie. You're my angel, you know that?"

"No," Arthur laughed, "I'm your nurse."

"Angel, nurse…don't care as long as the skirt's short," Alfred replied roguishly. Arthur blushed and shook his head in mock judgment. "Oh, don't give me that look. You've been shamelessly checking me out during those sponge baths."

Forgetting all about Alfred's injuries, Arthur lightly slapped the other boy's upper arm.

"Shut it, git!" Arthur pouted for a moment, and then captured Alfred's lips in another soft kiss.

"Lay down, babe. Get comfortable. You can share with me tonight."

"The nurse will be scandalized," Arthur replied. Alfred just grinned.

"Naw, she thinks I'm cute. She'll forgive us," Alfred replied. Arthur rolled his eyes but did as Alfred suggested. Settling on the side opposite Alfred's IV, he curled up against his tall boyfriend and finally, _finally_, relaxed completely.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll tell you what…if you can remember what happened to you…I might just be able to get my hands on a nurse's uniform."

"Damn! Arthur! You know I'd remember if I could!" Alfred protested. Arthur chuckled darkly.

"I guess you'll just have to try harder if you want a checkup from Nurse Kirkland."

"You're _mean_," Alfred pouted. Arthur snickered against Alfred's warm hospital gown.

"If I'm so mean, I suppose I don't have to sing to you tonight," Arthur replied. Alfred gave him a one-armed squeeze around his shoulders.

"Please?" he begged sweetly. Arthur sighed, but really didn't mind at all. He began to sing, low and soothing, until his own eyes fluttered shut and he drifted off rather peacefully.

Alfred smiled at the slumbering teen and finally allowed himself to believe it was going to be okay. He'd remember. He would remember no matter what. Then they'd know who was trying to ruin their happiness, and they'd finally catch him and end the hell he'd inflicted.

Even so, Alfred knew he'd relive it all a million times over so long as he ended up right where he was—with the most amazing boy in the world tucked against his side, completely in love and stronger together than ever before.

**A/N: **Not done yet, but we're getting there! I'm so happy some of you picked up on the underlying WW2 theme. Granted, it's pretty subtle. I wasn't about to make Ludwig be the rapist or anything, but I did want to show England vulnerable and hurting, and America trying to be supportive from a distance, and then the direct attack against America.

One reviewer was a little irritated that Ivan and Alfred were friends, citing the fact that Russia and America are not best buddies in real life, but I drew inspiration from their friendship based on their space alliance. Competitive at first, true, but something really amazing came out of that competition and kind of united us together in a unique bit of shared history. At least, that's my justification anyway. Plus, none of the cannon Hetalia characters are ever really aggressive to each other or hold grudges, despite what's happened in history. It is a light-hearted comedy show, after all.

Hope this set your minds at ease. A few loose ends to tie up and we'll be at the end, my friends. Seems crazy to think about, but your support is what has gotten me through!


	32. Prom Night

**Chapter 32**

"Big shocker—I'm not prom queen," Michelle joked. Alex grinned and gave her thigh a squeeze under the table. Her dress for the end of the year dance was almost scandalous, but she was easily the sexiest girl there. It kind of amazed Alex that a girl like her was there with a guy like him, but he'd learned that Michelle was much deeper and less superficial than she had been labeled. She was funny. Smart. Alex loved how easy it was to talk to her, and how she never took crap from anyone. She was a fighter, with a soft-spot for the ocean like him, and dreams of getting back to the tropics some day.

Next to them sat Francis and Matthew, the new "it" couple of World Academy. The fame of the Hallway Project had propelled both of them into the limelight. At times, Matthew seemed a bit alarmed and overwhelmed by all the attention, but his growth over the year had allowed him to find his own voice and strengths. He stood beside Francis now, instead of in his shadow.

As always, Ivan was banned from the dance, but Yao had come with Kiku and Heracles, who rounded out their table. Patti was supposed to have been the eighth person at their table, but at the last minute, she'd been asked to the dance by a rather shy older boy. Matthew wished Alfred could have been there to see her dancing and smiling and blushing, looking quite transformed in the dress she'd picked out with Michelle. In her place, (surprising everyone) Tony had decided to come. He was dressed in a purple tux and he was taking notes on everyone as if they were research subjects, but he'd actually come. Eventually, he'd explained his behavior. He knew that Alfred would be sorry he missed the event, so he was meticulously documenting everything that happened. It was oddly sweet of him, in Matthew's opinion. They all missed Alfred, though. Alfred, however, had been home for weeks now and the school year was almost over. It was sad, but nobody suspected he'd return.

That was why almost total silence descended in the elegant venue when the doors opened and the butlers politely waved in Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland. Arthur was pushing Alfred in a wheel chair, but _still_.

Alfred's grin was ear to ear, Arthur smiled his shy, crooked little smile, and the student body erupted in cheers and noise. Arthur's hand dropped onto Alfred's shoulder and gently squeezed. Arthur was so incredibly proud and happy for Alfred, because he'd moved mountains to make so much progress. He worked tirelessly to recover one hundred percent, against all odds—it was just Alfred's way to never give up.

Matthew was stumbling to his feet and all but running towards the pair. He launched himself to the side of the chair and gave Alfred as delicate a hug as he could manage, not sure how fragile he still was, or if any tubes and monitors were hidden under his slightly baggy tuxedo.

"You're here!" Matthew shouted happily, which really wasn't all that loud considering he was so soft-spoken by nature.

"Isn't it great? I'm good as new!" Alfred replied. His speech was even quick again, and there was none of the shakiness in his hands that Matthew had seen when he'd visited Alfred's house the weekend before.

"Can you stand?" Matthew asked, suddenly worried. He'd never seen Alfred out of bed. What if he'd been paralyzed and he just hadn't wanted to say anything?

"For a little bit at a time. Walking is still a little rough. My muscles are jelly," Alfred replied. That was the only conversation they managed to share before well-wishers swarmed the duo. Everyone wanted to say something to them—even kids they didn't even know. Ashley was particularly fake and obnoxious when she greeted him, but Alfred took the higher road and merely smiled and thanked her for wishing him a fast recovery. As she left, in a rather eyesore of a prom dress, Alfred muttered so only Arthur could hear, "What a two-faced little—"

"Alfred!" Arthur interjected, surprised to hear Alfred speak ill of anyone. Not even a few months ago, he would have happily accepted Ashley's false friendliness and misinterpreted it as sincerity. It seemed even Alfred had learned not to trust so blindly. Arthur thought it was a good thing, but it still surprised him a little.

"You're right. I shouldn't bad talk her. Then I'd be no different than she is," Alfred said wisely. Arthur, however, disagreed. Alfred had no reason to _ever_ worry that he was similar to Ashley Winters.

After the rush died down and the party resumed, they finally got to sit at the overcrowded table with their friends and catch up. Alfred wanted to know everything that had been happening at school, as well as what had become of the Hallway Project. In total, and this had amazed even Francis, they had raised over two million dollars through charitable donations to the cause, most of them anonymous. Arthur smiled, truly glad that something so fantastic had come out of such horrible circumstances.

"That's amazing. Francis, Michelle, Matthew...you all did the Hero Club proud, I'd say," Arthur praised. Alfred reached for his hand and Arthur laced their fingers together, smiling at his boyfriend. "And you, too, of course. Ever my hero," Arthur said. It was sappy, and he usually didn't say such things in public, but he was just so _proud_ of Alfred, and of all his friends really. They were amazing, each and every one of them.

"Well, Artie, will you give your hero a dance?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred, I don't know if you're quite ready for _dancing_," Arthur said nervously. Alfred just smiled at him, easy and bright. He had such an amazing smile. It made Arthur melt a little just to look at it.

"Aww, come on. Just one, _little_ dance won't hurt. 'Sides, we can just stand and sway. Mattie'll go ask for a slow song." Happy to oblige, Matthew raced to the DJ booth with his mind whirling with possibilities.

After some maneuvering, Alfred managed to stand on his own. He extended his hand to Arthur, and as a show of encouragement from Mr. Allowick (who was running the lights) suddenly the venue was dark and twinkly, with little white lights swirling all about. Arthur took Alfred's hand, and subtly helped him until they were standing on the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by other lovestruck couples. Arthur thought it was impossible that any of them loved their dates as much as he loved Alfred Jones. The music started slow, and sweet, and it was one of those absolutely perfect moments. Arthur and Alfred both knew that it was a moment of a lifetime. It was a dance to celebrate all they'd survived, and all they'd learned. They stood together, invincible and immortal, golden and shining.

_Heart beats fast, colors and promises_

_How to be brave_

_How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?_

_But watching you stand alone,_

_All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow._

_One step closer. _

_I have died everyday, waiting for you_

_Darling, don't be afraid._

_I have loved you for a thousand years._

_I'll love you for a thousand more. _

"I will, Alfred. I'll love you forever. You will always be my first and only love," Arthur said in a soft whisper. He rested his cheek against Alfred's chest, and his wild fringe fitted just perfectly under Alfred's chin. The taller boy's arms encircled his hips loosely, and they swayed to the music, barely even moving but stealing the show.

"I love you too, Arthur. You're...you're...aw, I don't know how to say it. You know I'm not good with words. You just have to know that I'll _always_ protect your heart. You'll always be safe here," Alfred promised, gently squeezing his arms around Arthur's form.

Arthur felt himself growing a little misty eyed, and he chuckled against Alfred's crisp tux. "I think you have just the right words. You always do with me, love," Arthur reassured. After a few more shuffling steps and sweetly crooned lyrics, the song ended with a surprise—silvery glitter dropped over the students, the grand finale to the final, magical dance of the evening. Arthur and Alfred laughed, their faces slanting in perfect rhythm towards each other. They shared a perfect kiss, and the moment seemed like it would be theirs forever.

* * *

><p>As they rode back to the White House together in the back of the limousine, Arthur helped himself to a glass of chilled sparkling cider that had been waiting on them. Champagne glass in one hand, Arthur sleepily went about loosening his tie and settling comfortably against Alfred's side.<p>

"I'm glad you talked me into going. It was horribly cheesy," Arthur grumbled with a fond smile. Alfred shared his grin and carded his fingers through Arthur's hair. He was obviously and completely worn out.

"Still sad we missed going to the restaurant with everyone before the dance..." Alfred murmured. Alfred was sagging in exhaustion. His eyes were already fluttering shut.

"Ah, well, there's always next year for huge pasta dishes and cheesecake," Arthur joked. Alfred spoke through an impossibly huge yawn.

"Yaww...but I wanted ta' treat you—the works for my guy," Alfred mumbled sleepily. Arthur smiled against his jaw.

"I'll hold you to that. We haven't been on a proper date in ages," Arthur said, sipping on his sparkling cider. He glanced out the window, watching the lights of the city blur past. Suddenly, Arthur's eyebrows forked downwards in concern. "Alfred, wake up. This isn't the way back to the White House," Arthur said in alarm.

"Huh?" Alfred replied, still mostly out of it. Arthur's hand flew to his trouser pocket, but his phone was not there—he remembered in a flash—it was in his coat pocket, and his coat was—

"Yeah, it's up here with me, Arthur. Not sharp enough, _Artie_...didn't you think it odd that the security team rode with you on the way here, but weren't here for the ride back?"

The voice echoed in the limousine from an intercom, but their view of the driver was blocked by the dark, impenetrable glass.

It didn't matter. They both recognized the voice.

"Mike!" Arthur shouted, spilling the drink and scrambling for the door handle. They were going fast, but they had to attract attention! It was no good, the handle did nothing and the locks were missing. Arthur began to breathe hard, panicking, because he had nothing to defend them and no way to let other drivers know there was a problem.

"Arthur, up there!" Alfred said, nodding his head up to the skyroof. Arthur jumped for it, pried it open against the automatic system, and had his torso half out before Mike caught on and began to harshly force the window shut. The glass and metal cut painfully against Arthur's abdomen, and much to Arthur's dismay, they were down an isolated road now—there weren't any cars tailing them. He began to scream anyway, but it did no good. The merciless wind whipped his words away and soon he was banging on the top of the vehicle and screaming in pain rather than in alarm. He could hear Alfred's muffled shouts below, but still the glass and metal cover kept ramming him. Finally, when he knew his whole stomach would be one giant bruise, the window slid open again and he collapsed in a weakened heap back into the limousine. The door slid shut finally, and a locking button was heard.

"Ah ah ah—good try, but I've waited _too_ long for us to be alone. I can't let you get away _that_ easily, baby," Mike's voice practically purred over the intercom.

"LET US GO YOU SICKO!" Alfred roared, trying weakly to help Arthur back into the seat. Arthur was coughing harshly, rubbing his bruising stomach where there was a thin line of blood where the skin had sliced open.

"You? Oh, I'll be letting you go all too soon, and all too happily—you've been the only person standing between me and my Arthur, after all. It's a shame I didn't finish you off with that bat."

"I'm going to _kill_ you! I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands, Mike!" Arthur screamed, but tears were clouding his cheeks. They were trapped, and completely at Mike's mercy.

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Arthur's former guard screamed. Alfred and Arthur exchanged desperate, frightened looks.

"It's your name, isn't it?" Alfred said shakily. Their driver's disgust was apparent when he replied.

"A cover, obviously, you dumb piece of shit! My name is _Alfred_, isn't that right, Arthur baby? I'm the one you _really_ love. I'm the one you've been calling for."

Arthur's eyes widened in alarm and completely confusion. "What the bloody hell are you on about? You're mental!"

"NO. I _know_ you've been waiting for me! Last year, I saw you going off to school and I _wanted_ you, because you were so fucking hot, and I thought it was crazy at first, but then I started hearing you, Artie. I heard you talking to me. When I saw you on television, you'd look straight at me and tell me you were waiting for me. You got your nipple pierced to tease me, didn't you? I just had to come find you, because we're supposed to be together. You _know_ that—you're just lying because _he's _here! He's been trying to kill me! He's trying to ruin our happiness!" Mike ranted, and the vehicle swerved a bit dangerously as he screamed.

Neither of the boys had _any_ clue what was going on, but they were both acutely aware that their lives were in extreme danger. As Mike ranted, Alfred tried to break the cider bottle against the window, attempting to make some sort of weapon. He was successful, but Mike heard the crash and stopped his mad tirade by slamming on the brakes. He must have thought they'd broken a window instead of just the bottle.

The ploy didn't work for long. Once he got out and realized they were still trapped inside, the car started moving once more.

"SHUT UP BACK THERE! Don't you hurt Arthur, because he's MINE. I'll come back there and KILL you if I have to!" Mike screamed. The voice seemed to come from everywhere, on max volume. Alfred's hand bled a little where he'd broken the glass but his blue eyes slanted in determination.

"You're _right! _I've had it out for you all along. If you want him unharmed, you'll face me now or else I'll hurt him," Alfred spat. Arthur's eyes widened in alarm, but then he realized what Alfred was trying to do. They had to shake Mike up. Who knew what was waiting for them when they reached their final destination.

"I KNEW IT! Don't you fucking TOUCH him, Jones! He's MINE. He's ALWAYS BEEN MINE! Mine to hurt! I've waited _too_ long to feel him again!"

Playing along Arthur screamed. Even as he did so, he armed himself with a thick shard of the glass from the bottle. Alfred held the mouth with it's jagged edges. The vehicle slammed to a stop once more, and it happened almost before they were ready. The door flung open and suddenly Mike was _there_, just as Arthur remembered during the attack—same clothes, same smell, same voice—how had he not _recognized_?

Arthur swung at him weakly, but he was frozen up with fright and panic and his swing missed. Alfred, however, connected with surprising force considering his frailty. He jabbed the bottle into Mike's side, and the glass sunk in deeply because Mike screamed and twisted in an animal-like reaction to the pain.

His fist connected solidly with Alfred's jaw and Arthur's love sagged instantly to the floor of the car, like a rag doll.

That did it for Arthur. Something simply _snapped_ inside him. He flung himself at Mike with all his strength, pushing him out of the vehicle and tumbling onto the grass and rocks beside the road. The glass was still in his hand and he stabbed, over and over, ignoring the pain in his own hand and the screaming of Mike. Mike wrestled him onto his back and got his big hands around Arthur's throat. Arthur bucked, clawed at the hands, but he'd lost his make-shift weapon in the struggle. He was done. Mike was stronger, even bleeding out like a stuck pig.

Just when Arthur's vision began to go blurry, something heavy struck Mike over the back of the head and he fell on top of Arthur, with the finality of a dead man.

Somewhere in his frenzied, exhausted mind, Arthur sagged completely in relief. It was _over_. It was finally over. Alfred had come through for him one more time.

* * *

><p>"Based on the boys' testimony, we can only assume your attacker suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. His real name was, in fact, Alfred Carlson. We found his fake documentation at his apartment, hidden in his air duct. As Mr. Carlson, he had a history of mental illness. He originally lived in Ohio, where he ceased his treatment against doctor advisement. Then he just...disappeared."<p>

"Not for long enough," Arthur replied gravely. The detective nodded solemnly.

"He popped back up in London, a year before you left for your first year of school, where he made the name change. It's likely that's when his condition worsened and he began to fixate on you. People with this mental disorder tend to have delusions of grandeur. They can sincerely believe that they have a connection with a famous person—even a relationship," the detective explained. Helen Jones shook her head, her complexion white with stress and worry. The four of them, Arthur and Alfred, and Alfred's parents sat in the police station, a confusing, frightening week after the final attack. It was only now that they were finally getting the whole story. Their wounds had been treated, but the questions still remained.

"So he was a pedophile, on top of everything else?" Richard asked, his voice graveled and furious. The detective nodded.

"We found alarming content on his computer—pornography that was as violent as it was illegal. It was home video type footage. It's the type of stuff we investigate, because it's obvious that the participant in the video is not there willingly. His fixation with Mr. Kirkland grew, and he likely believed that when Mr. Kirkland mentioned Alfred in the news, he was talking to _him_."

"Oh god," Helen said with a hand covering her perfect lips. Alfred gave Arthur's non-bandaged hand a gentle squeeze.

"And when we came to D.C., he followed us," Arthur concluded with a shudder. The detective nodded again, this time sadly.

"He applied for work at the school the summer before you arrived. Faked his resume, of course. His talent for forgery and deception was impressive. He even escaped suspicion during our initial investigation. For a crazy guy, he was meticulous. He had a plan, always."

"So the video he released...that was his way of claiming me, wasn't it? Because Alfred never appeared on screen but I talked to him off camera. He was trying to show the world that I belonged to him," Arthur said.

"I'd bet a lot of money you're right, but I'm no psychologist," the detective said with a resigned sigh.

"To think he was outside Artie's door the whole time...why didn't he just attack again? He could have done it whenever he wanted?" Alfred wondered confusedly. The detective shrugged.

"Paranoid schizophrenics hear voices, and usually they listen to them. We'll never really know what was going on in his head...but it's over. He was cremated four days ago. I'm afraid that's the only peace of mind I can give you," the detective said. Richard was the first to break the silence of the small room by standing and shaking the detective's hand.

"Our family appreciates the work you've done," it sounded less than sincere. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Richard Jones was furious at the failings of the police and the security teams in charge of his son. At least six men had already been fired, despite Alfred pleading that they be allowed to keep their jobs. Clearly the detective knew his own livelihood was at risk. He seemed all too happy that the briefing was over and his guests would be leaving soon.

As they exited the station, all of them grave-faced and solemn, Alfred comfortingly slung his arm over Arthur's shoulders. There was nothing left to be said. It truly was over now.

* * *

><p>AN: Not the last chapter just yet! The epilogue will follow, and then yes, my lovely readers...this series will be done for good. It had a good run, and I'm incredibly proud that I finished it and got to share a story that seemed to make other people as happy reading it as I was writing it. But all save all my sappy goodbyes for the last chapter. For now, the boys have found some closure and you can finally say it: I KNEW IT WAS MIKE!

Side note: You know that gag line "Be careful or you'll end up in my novel?" Mike was the name of a guy I worked with at my first job. He was tall, attractive, fit...but he always struck me as such a little neurotic and wound too tightly. He's probably perfectly normal...but I always wondered about Mike. Now he has his own creepy alter ego in a story he will never know exists. Sorry Mike, but thanks for inspiring your creeper!version.


	33. A Very Happy Ending

**Epilogue**

"_Well? I'm dying to know. What did you think?"_ Matthew's voice asked a little nervously. It reminded Arthur of when they'd met all those years ago, and Matthew had been timid and unsure of everything. The editor smiled against his cell phone and idly flipped through the printed pages on his impressive, mahogany desk.

"It's...surprisingly good. The ending was a little abrupt, and there were typos that need to be fixed—a few times you wrote 'Alfred' when I'm pretty certain you were referring to myself..." Arthur trailed off, his brows furrowed and his face drawn in a thoughtful expression.

"_Oh_..._I probably shouldn't have wasted your time with it. I know you're really busy these days, and—"_

"Matthew, you're not hearing me. I like it. It's pretty good for a first book. A little _too_ insightful at times...I _knew_ Alfred gossiped about our sex life. He's got a big mouth, doesn't he?" Matthew's soft laughter brought another fond smile to Arthur's face. "It's just a little strange to relive all that again, from an outsider perspective, you know? It really was quite intense at times. Are you going to change the names?"

"_I hadn't really thought about it. I figured my connection to you guys is so well known that the readers would figure it out even if I did change the names," _Matthew replied. _"Besides...it's all true. I could publish it as a memoir."_

"Yes...I _suppose_ you could, but if you fictionalized it, you could finish the series out—add the Junior and Senior years," Arthur mused.

"_But nothing really happened those two years. I can't write two years of 'then they lived happily ever after'...can I?" _Matthew asked. Arthur considered the problem.

"It's up to you, Matthew. I think...if you want to keep it so graphic, you should let it remain a memoir. If you want to appeal to the younger, teenaged crowd, you should fictionalize it, lower the rating, and round out the series."

"_Arthur, you can be honest...you just want me to fictionalize it so that nobody will know what a sap for Alfred you are,"_ Matthew teased jokingly. Arthur smiled again, his eyes shifting to the photo frames adorning his desk—Alfred and himself smiling in their new college dorm room, their senior prom photo, and all the other snapshots of their adopted daughter, Lily.

"Well, I suppose it _is_ a pretty wonderful love story at the end of the day. Those don't come around all that often, at least not true ones, anyway. I shudder to think about Lily reading it when she's older, though," Arthur said with sudden realization.

"_Oh, wow...I forgot about the kids. I guess I just didn't let myself think it could actually be published. I'll definitely have to fictionalize it. Ellery and Jack can't _ever_ know about what I got up to my freshman year," _Matthew said with a grin.

"I _had_ forgotten all about your little foray into the world of being a bad boy, Matthew. I got a good laugh out of that part. Say, when are you and Francis coming down again?" Arthur asked, shifting the topic away from Matthew's novel-in-progress.

"_Erm, lemme check the calender. I think we're flying in for the olympics. The kids really enjoy it, and it's always fun to see Alfred and Lily doing their thing. I think Francis's firm is handling some of the PR this year for it." _

"That's only in a few weeks, then. I swear may has just _flown_ by. Speaking of time passing, I've stayed at the office too late wrapped up in this novel of yours. I need to get going if I'm going to make Lily's game," Arthur said.

"_Of course, wish her luck for me!" _Matthew said brightly.

"I'll let her know Uncle Mattie sends his best, as always," Arthur replied dutifully. "And Matthew? Really great start on the book. I truly mean that—I'm not just saying it because you're practically family."

"_T-thanks, Arthur. That really means a lot to me! I love writing my column, but I feel like I'm ready for something new, you know? I'd love the freedom of writing from home, and getting to see the kids more. It slips by you if you're not careful. I know you need to get going, but will Ivan and Yao be in town when we're there?" _Matthew asked.

"They should be. Raivis got his World Academy invitation in the mail yesterday, did you hear?" Arthur asked.

"_No, I hadn't heard! I bet Yao is really proud. Raivis is a smart kid. He'll do well there," _Matthew said. Arthur glanced once more at the memoir sitting on his desk about his own years at World Academy.

"Let's hope _his_ years are a bit less dramatic than ours," Arthur said with a half-smile. Matthew's soft laughter rang out and then they said their goodbyes. Arthur ended the international call from Canada and glanced at the time on his phone. "Shite, I'm really late!"

Hurrying as best he could, Arthur locked up Matthew's manuscript and dismissed his secretary for the evening. The huge publishing house that he worked out was still bustling with people, even though five had long since gone. Arthur loved his job, but like Matthew, sometimes he wondered if he was spending too many hours fixing grammar mistakes and not enough time having tea parties with Lily.

It was short ride to the gymnasium, however, and Arthur was able to fit his small car into the half space that Helen had left with her newest, gas guzzling Hummer.

He hurriedly bought his ticket to the game and broke into a run as he heard the buzzer go off. He'd missed the first quarter, which was always the part of the game where Lily was most nervous. As always, the gym was fairly packed. It took Arthur a moment, but finally he spotted Helen in the front row of the bleachers, looking immaculate as always, saving a spot for him and sipping from a water bottle that likely had a little something extra in it.

She was a fantastic grandma, though. Lily adored her.

"Arthur! There you are! Late day at the office?" she asked.

"Yes, unfortunately. What's the score?" Arthur asked, even as his green eyes trailed up to the scoreboard. Lily's team was only two points ahead. During the break, the six year old girls had their chairs all drawn up around Alfred, who held his customary clip board and his coach whistle. It always made Arthur smile to see Alfred get so into coaching Lily's team. Granted, it was basketball for kids in wheelchairs, and most of the time the kids just rolled about as haphazardly as any squadron of young children is wont to do when a ball and complicated rules were involved—but Alfred took his coaching responsibilities very seriously. He was supportive of each and every kid, and made sure that the all had a moment to shine in the games and feel good about themselves. At that moment, Alfred glanced up from his pep talk and caught his eye. He flashed him one of those beautiful smiles, that _still_ made Arthur melt even after all the years they'd shared together.

Arthur smiled brightly back, and then found Lily's crazy red curls. She was perhaps the only child completely focused on every word Alfred said—the two of them were total sports fanatics. Arthur was certain Lily would no doubt participate in the paralympics that Alfred helped to run each year when her time came—either for basketball or the host of other sports she played.

"So let's remember, what's our motto?" Alfred asked the group. Since children typically enjoy shouting out answers, his response was quite loud and encouraging.

"Let us win, but if we can't win, let us be brave trying!" the girls shouted. Arthur, along with most of the parents and family watching, smiled hugely. The girls took to the court then, smiling and laughing and inspiring their parents to smile at their sometimes adorably awkward attempts. Of course, it wasn't because they were disabled. It was things like a child getting the ball and shooting it in the completely wrong basket, or getting distracted by a sparkly bracelet or a toy they'd secreted away in a pocket, and totally missing a pass—all those adorable moments that parents cherish when they enroll their son or daughter in a peewee sport.

Lily, however, was always focused. She loved the game, just like Alfred.

"She's _so_ talented. Look at the girl—the other kids are picking their noses, but she's a star," Helen commented, not bothering to pitch her voice lower. Arthur blushed a bit and rolled his eyes, as Helen still tended to be a little too competitive, even in her old age.

"Yes, well, I only wish our little star would put the effort into spelling that she puts into her sports," Arthur said.

"Nonsense. Nowadays you don't need to know how to spell. Everything has autocorrect. Besides, Lily's _so_ strong in math," Helen replied. Arthur knew a losing battle when he saw one—in Helen's eyes, her grandbaby could do no wrong.

"Richard couldn't make it today?" Arthur asked. Helen shook her head, eyes still glued to Lily's progress across the court.

"Our illustrious lobbyist is on the campaign trail as of today—left early this morning."

"It's amazing what he's accomplished so far. Only two states left, right?" Arthur asked, referring to Richard's focus on gay marriage and ensuring equal rights for all citizens. He'd done quite a bit for the gay community during his two terms of presidency, but he was accomplishing even more when he applied his ruthlessness and political know-how to lobbying.

"Two more. We're throwing a fantastically huge party when he gets all fifty," Helen said with a sparkling smile.

"Oh, and your mother called me today. She got Lily's photographs and just _loved_ them," Helen said. These days, Helen primarily occupied herself helping Alfred out with the paralympics and his coaching, but she did photography on the side.

"She takes after Alfred there, too—photographs so well," Arthur bragged. Of course, Arthur was biased, but he thought Lily's crazy red curls and her freckles, even her missing two front teeth, made for a pretty adorable kid. She was always getting compliments, or questions about her hair—attention that she loved, by the way. She was a ham like Alfred, too.

The game continued without any incidents, and it was a solid victory for Alfred's team. Arthur was relieved about that—despite their numerous talks with her, Lily's competitiveness made it hard for her to accept it gracefully when she lost.

"You were late, Papa!" Lily accused, as she wheeled up to him after the game.

"Yeah, Papa. You know we can't win unless you're here to cheer for us," Alfred said with a smile. He planted a sweet, chaste kiss on Arthur's lips in greeting and then ruffled Lily's curls. "You did a great job out there, sweet pea. I'm proud of you!"

"You _always _say that, even when we lose," Lily replied with a huge sigh. It made the adults grin. Arthur leaned down to give her a hug.

"Well, you always give it your all. It makes us proud," Arthur said. Lily rolled her eyes again (her new favorite expression, much to Arthur's displeasure) but smiled against her papa's shirt collar. She loved when he came to her games. She saw far more of her daddy than she did of her papa, so when Arthur was home, he was all Lily's until lights out. It was Helen's turn to fuss over her granddaughter, which she did for quite awhile, until Lily grew tired of their attention and wheeled off after her best friend, Samantha.

Once home, they fell into their Friday night routine. Alfred ordered the pizza while Lily hauled out all the movies, to pick which one they'd watch.

"Nothing scary, Lily!" Arthur insisted as he headed into the master bedroom to change out of his suit and into his pajamas.

"Aww," he heard Lily and Alfred pout at the same time. Arthur shook his head and changed, emerging to see that Alfred had transferred Lily to the couch already and she was already snuggled up in her favorite spot for movie watching—between the two of them. The menu screen of the movie was rolling, and Arthur mentally groaned to see it was the latest Disney movie they'd added to their collection...for what felt like the billionth time that month. It was Lily's turn to choose, though, so he should have expected it.

He tickled Lily's side as he plopped onto the couch beside her, and Alfred (just as entranced as Lily by the animated movie) eagerly pressed play.

"Good choice, Lily-bean!" Alfred said with a broad smile of anticipation. Arthur had to smile—Alfred was such a big kid. He likely always would be, and Arthur wouldn't have it any other way. A few minutes into the movie and Alfred's arm curled over the back of the couch, to give Arthur's shoulder a loving little squeeze. Their eyes met and they gave each other a quick little peck over Lily's head.

"_Guys_," Lily complained, looking up at them and pouting. Arthur laughed at her expression and retaliated by peppering her cheeks with kisses while Alfred tickled her.

"Geez, Lily, don't be the kissy face police!" Alfred teased. Their little red head stuck her tongue out at him but went back to her movie with a grin.

"Only _one_ more," she said.

"Oh, we'd best make it count then. This is to be our last kiss, Alfred," Arthur said with mock seriousness. Lily snickered.

"Nope. We'll just have to kiss in secret, when the Lily-dragon isn't watching us," Alfred replied. Delighting in the new nickname, Lily let out a roar. Alfred leaned over her once more and smiled as he sweetly kissed his husband once more.

Lily roared again, and the two men broke apart with mirroring smiles.

"Alright, Lily-dragon, no more kissy stuff," Arthur promised. Speaking of kissy stuff, though... "Lily, I almost forgot to tell you. Daddy and I are going out for a date tomorrow evening. Raivis is going to come play with you while we're gone, okay?"

"Okay," the little girl agreed carelessly, absorbed in the movie once more. Alfred's hand began caressing Arthur's shoulder again, and it was so soothing that Arthur nearly dozed off. The door bell ringing when the pizza arrived woke him up.

"I'll get it," he said, seeing as his family was glued to the screen. Arthur fixed their plates and made a salad to accompany the pizza, and poured the drinks last. He loved pizza night. He cooked dinner with Lily most nights (and he was a _perfectly_ acceptable cook, thank you very much), but nothing tasted quite as good as Friday pizza with his little family.

He brought the plates in and they shared the meal as the movie played out. When it was done, Lily was already out like a light. Smiling, Alfred easily lifted her into his arms with practiced gentleness. With Arthur following, he carried her up the stairs and tucked her into bed.

"Here's a bed pad, love," Arthur whispered. Sometimes, Lily had accidents in the night. Arthur was better than Alfred at remembering the mattress pad, because it was always him that Lily wanted if she awoke in the middle of the night.

"Where's Moose?" Alfred asked, referring to the stuffed toy Lily had received on one of her birthdays from Uncle Mattie and Uncle Francis. It was her favorite.

"Ah, here it is," Arthur said, finding it tangled up in the sheets. Lovingly, Alfred tucked Moose into Lily's slender arms. He pushed her crazy curls off her forehead and kissed her goodnight. He stood smiling down at her for a moment and then reached for Arthur, tucking him against his side. "Man," he whispered, "Is our kid cute or what?"

"Cutest when she's sleeping," Arthur teased, "Like a certain someone else I know."

"Aww, you watch me sleep and think that I'm cute?" Alfred asked. Arthur squirmed out of his taller husband's muscular hold and made for their bedroom. He tossed a flirty glance over his shoulder.

"Alfred, it's Friday, in case you've forgotten," he reminded in a purr. Alfred smiled broadly, almost a little mischievously. Friday was their night, as Lily's game usually wore her out to the point that the usually light sleeper wouldn't wake up if a freight train roared through her bedroom. It _was_ a little sad that they'd resorted to scheduling a night to have sex, and on more than one occasion it had made Arthur feel like they were turning into old men, but they mixed it up every once in awhile, too. The routine just made such occasions even more thrilling and memorable.

Once Alfred had met him in the hallway and joined their hands, Arthur gave him a mock scowl.

"Though I shouldn't give you Friday sex at all—I finally read Matthew's manuscript today. Quite a few of his more graphic scenes were a little _too_ accurate. Some things _are_ private you know," Arthur complained. Alfred chuckled uneasily and rubbed at the back of his head a bit sheepishly.

"I _did_ think it was a little weird that he was asking me such in-depth questions, and it was kinda embarrassing, but he really wants the book to be realistic!"

"A-huh," Arthur replied, not convinced to let Alfred off the hook yet. His blue-eyed sweetheart grinned charmingly at him and tried to kiss him, but Arthur playfully turned his head.

"Baaaaaabbbbyyy!" Alfred whined. Arthur smiled, but only a little bit.

"Yes, blabber mouth?" Arthur replied, with a sweet grin up at Alfred.

"I promise I'll do dirty things to you tonight and I won't tell _anyone_," Alfred said, eyes shining with sincerity. Arthur's grin widened.

"I'm listening. What kind of things?" he asked playfully, backing away from Alfred and then descending the stairs, glancing a bit coyly over his shoulder as he went.

"Mmm, maybe I want to surprise you," Alfred said huskily. He caught up to Arthur on the stairs and made the shorter man laugh by nibbling on his neck as they awkwardly tried to finish the rest of the stairs tangled up together. At the bottom of the stairs, Arthur finally righted himself in Alfred's hold and rolled his hips against Alfred's thigh, beginning to crave the pressure. After so many years, they knew how to pleasure each other in the best imaginable ways. There was something to be said for experience, even if they weren't as spontaneous as they'd been in their younger years.

"You're thinking about something else," Alfred muttered, as he kissed Arthur's jaw and throat. Arthur blinked in surprise and realized his thoughts had drifted off once more to Matthew's version of their teen years.

"I'm sorry. I am in the mood, love, it was just a bit odd reading about all those things of the past again. So much of it had faded, or I'd just forgotten it completely. For example, whatever happened to Patricia?"

"Patricia? Wow, you know, I really don't know," Alfred said. "Huh," he added, with the realization of someone who is a little surprised that they have forgotten something.

"We didn't see her as much junior year, after she got the new boyfriend," Arthur reminisced.

"Well, maybe we'll see her next weekend," Alfred suggested, returning to his task of kissing Arthur on every available inch of skin.

"Hmm? What's next weekend?" Arthur asked.

"It's our World Academy reunion—ten years, if you can believe it. I wrote it on the calendar like you told me to," Alfred reminded. Arthur closed his eyes in a wince. He had quite a bit on his plate and sometimes the details got lost in the mix.

"Do you really want to go? Matthew and Francis won't be in town for it," Arthur replied. Alfred gave him a coaxing smile. They'd made it to their bedroom by then, and the attractive blond was stripping off his shirt and pants, and toeing out of his sneakers.

"Aww, come on, babe! It'll be fun! Yao and Ivan are going," Alfred said. "Plus, they're going to give out silly awards and stuff. Don't you think it'd be great to see what happened to everyone?"

"Alfred, I don't remember 95% of the people we went to high school with...but I suppose I can't let you go alone. What would people think of our marriage then?" Arthur teased. Alfred grinned.

"Probably what they thought in high school—that if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't ever do anything fun," Alfred goaded. Arthur smirked and then sat on their bed, his legs parted, his shirt off.

"Well, Mr. Fun, if it's not _too_ terribly dull for you, can we get on with the making love?"

"Hey, I live to please you," Alfred replied, before surprising Arthur a bit and dropping to his knees. He began to kiss his way up the inside of Arthur's thigh, and licked a little at Arthur's growing erection, still covered in cloth.

"Alfred, not that I'm complaining...but are you really keeping the socks on?" Arthur asked with a grimace. Alfred grinned and bit lightly at Arthur's inner thigh, causing his husband to pout.

"My feet get cold. Besides, you like the socks. They turn you on," Alfred tried. Arthur snorted.

"When you promised me something dirty, I didn't think you were talking about your sweaty gym socks," Arthur rebutted. Alfred chuckled and stood, after placing one last quick kiss to Arthur's thigh. Dancing about in a rather comedic fashion, considering his erection was bouncing along with him, Alfred wormed out of his socks. He tossed them away saucily, as if he were putting on a show. Arthur couldn't help but laugh. Adding his own soundtrack, Alfred began to swirl his hips and give his best shot at what he likely thought was a quite sexy lap dance. Arthur couldn't stop giggling.

"You're such an idiot, Jones!" Arthur said, looping his arms around Alfred's trim waist, once he was sitting in Arthur's lap.

"You married me, so _technically_, you're a Jones, too," Alfred replied. The teasing finally ended then, as Alfred claimed Arthur's lips in a heated kiss and both of them became completely lost in their own little world.

* * *

><p>"Hey, man, looking sharp!" Alfred greeted, pumping his fist against Ivan's, who rolled his eyes at Alfred's silliness.<p>

"You look moronic, as usual," Ivan said cheerily. Arthur and Yao, meanwhile, were exchanging quick hugs and Arthur was thanking Yao for the millionth time for persuading Raivis to babysit for them yet again.

"It is good for him to work—he's too spoiled!" Yao fussed, shooting a glare at Ivan. The four of them had remained close, even though Ivan and Yao had stayed in the states for their final two years of high school, while everyone else had gone to the other World Academy international locations. They'd been apart in college, too, when Alfred and Arthur had attended school in London while Yao and Ivan went to a local college in Washington. Alfred and Arthur had returned to the capital city to start their lives together, though, and they'd quickly reconnected with their old friends as if they'd never been apart. Now Raivis babysat for them nearly once a week, and they all went out for drinks when they could.

"So this is, what, your first ever World Academy dance? Are you sure your school function ban doesn't extend to ten year reunions?" Alfred asked teasingly. Ivan merely smiled.

"Technically, _I_ was not invited. Yao received an invitation, and I'm his plus one," Ivan replied with a grin. Alfred had to laugh at that. Ivan had certainly made one hell of an impression on World Academy that year he'd attended before the rest of them arrived.

"Well, let's see what this is all about then. I suppose I _am_ a little curious now," Arthur said. They had barely made it in the doors of the old school gym, decorated in the school colors for the occasion, when Alfred was captured in a hug.

"Alfred!" the woman said excitedly. Alfred only processed dark hair for a moment before he realized it was Michelle hugging him.

"Michelle! Wow! How have you been?" Alfred asked. Arthur received a hug as well, followed by Ivan and Yao.

"I've been good, really good. And you guys?" she asked. Michelle had only stayed for two years at World Academy—she'd transferred back home after her junior year, but she'd been a good friend, once upon a time. She must have flown in for the reunion, which was surprising, considering in her school days Michelle hadn't been big on school spirit.

"Great. We've got a daughter now," Alfred said. The wallet was out instantly, and Michelle wanted to see all the photos they had of Lily, and of Raivis, too, even though he was sixteen now.

"Is he really about to go to World Academy? Man, I remember him toddling around the museum with a sippy cup and a binkie. Where does the time go?" she asked. The years had treated her well. She still looked like an island goddess, but her sexuality was a little more subtle and mysterious these days.

"We were just talking about that the other day. You know, Mattie has written a book about our first two years of school here. Arthur was telling me the highlights on the way over," Alfred said. Michelle laughed, and she sounded genuinely happy and relaxed—a free spirit, now.

"Oh, let me _not_ wait in line for that one. Not my best years, by any stretch of the imagination," she said. Arthur secretly agreed. Michelle had come around eventually, but she was essentially the villain in the early part of the second book. Matthew had perhaps had a bit _too_ much fun remembering all her flaws. Thoughts of Matthew made Arthur remember his old friend, Alex.

"Did you keep in touch with Alex?" Arthur asked. Michelle smiled a little guiltily.

"That's actually why I came to this thing. Alex was so amazing, you know? And we were great together, but we just drifted apart after I moved back home. I was hoping to run into him here. Not that I'm stalking him online or anything, but he made a post that he might fly in for it..."

"Because that doesn't sound like stalking at all," Alfred agreed with a teasing grin. "Just admit it. You want a reunion hook-up with Alex," he added. Michelle gave him a light punch.

"You haven't changed at all. You're still a total goofball," she remarked. Before their conversation could continue much further, they were approached by none other than Patricia.

"Oh my gosh, it's so great to see you all here!" Patricia said. More hugs. More photos. Patricia was happily married and working as an elementary school teacher. She had two kids of her own, a four year old and a two year old. "You have to meet my husband, Luke. He's around here somewhere—probably loading up at the snack table. That was, in fact, where Luke was to be found. He was a husky guy, tall and broad shouldered, with kind eyes and a nice smile. He and Patricia looked good together.

"Matthew and Francis aren't coming in?" Patricia asked.

"No, afraid not. They have two children now, though. Beautiful little blonde things—Ellery and Jack. More like Matthew than Francis, thank god," Arthur said.

"That sounds wonderful. How's little Peter?" Patricia asked. Peter had been around fourteen when he finished school with them, but he had always been like Patricia's little brother. Even back then she was a natural with precocious little kids.

"He's well. He ended up enrolling in a special program for gifted children after high school, so that he'd actually be the same age as his peers when he went to college. He's starting his advanced degree this year," Arthur said. Patricia smiled.

"He was such a quirky kid. Did he ever outgrow his hero worship of you?" she asked.

"Thankfully, yes. He keeps in touch now, but it's quite normal cousin talk now. Random family gossip about my brothers—that sort of thing," Arthur replied.

"How has it been with your family being so far away? That's gotta be hard," Patricia sympathized. Arthur shrugged.

"I stay so busy that even if they lived next door, I doubt we'd see them all that often. We go out for Christmas each year, and for two weeks in the summer if we can manage it."

"Lucky! I haven't done much travel since school. I didn't think I'd miss it after World Academy, but it really was fun going from place to place. We saw such amazing things—kind of took it for granted at the time," Patricia commented. Just then, another one of her school friends caught her attention and Patricia said her goodbyes.

"Wow, seems like everyone has had kids," Michelle commented. Judging by her still perfect figure, Michelle hadn't popped out any children. Arthur and Alfred were a little amused to spot Ashley Winters in the crowd, looking about eight sizes bigger and nowhere near as put together. Money didn't fix everything, though she definitely looked like she'd had some cosmetic surgery on parts of her face. She perpetually looked a little surprised.

Michelle caught the direction of their gazes and giggled girlishly, "I _know_ right? Talk about karma. She teased Patricia _so_ bad, too. Now it looks like Patricia's thinner than she is. Seeing that alone was worth the flight," Michelle joked.

Just then, a tall, good looking guy none of them recognized came up and introduced himself to Michelle, claiming he still remembered her from a math class they'd shared. Michelle clearly didn't remember him, but didn't seem at all opposed to being reminded.

They stood around a bit more, chatting and running into familiar faces. Kiku had come, but he was mostly wrapped up in Ludwig and Feliciano's company, who had also withstood the test of time. Kiku did make a point to see them and catch up a bit. He'd broken up with Heracles their senior year, and the two seemed to still be avoiding each other. His date for the evening was a Korean man that seemed to annoy Kiku with his constant questions and hyperactivity more than actually giving Kiku a nice evening.

The night passed in a blur of familiar faces and names until a short presentation was done about some of the more impressive graduates in their class. Quite a few had become millionaires—a list Arthur and Alfred were included on merely because of Arthur's family wealth. Arthur thought it was a nicer tribute when they highlighted some of the work Alfred did with the disabled community, and he got a rather nice medal for "still being the World Academy hero." There was a rather humorous slide show of baby photos (they must have contacted his mum for his own shot, as he was certain neither he nor Alfred had supplied their baby pictures). There was more snacking and dancing (they even danced to their old song) and the night ended on a high note, with many promises made to keep in touch.

As they drove home, Alfred held Arthur's hand and kept shooting loving glances at him.

"Keep your dopey eyes on the road," Arthur chided, though his words lacked their usual bite. Alfred just grinned at him again.

"I'm just thinking how lucky I am. We stuck it out together, all this time. I bet a lot of people in that room never thought we'd make it."

"No, they probably didn't," Arthur agreed. By college, they'd gotten to a point where they never argued, but their relationship had continued to have quite a few highs and lows in high school. Their lives had always fueled the gossip mill.

"I want you to know that if I had a time machine, I wouldn't change a single thing. It's been an amazing life together so far," Alfred said sweetly. Arthur gave his sappy husband's hand a squeeze that meant, _"I completely agree."_

"I love you, Alfred," Arthur said simply, leaning over to kiss Alfred's cheek.

"Always and forever," Alfred replied with a sleepy smile. Arthur nuzzled against Alfred's shoulder and watched the blur of the taillights as they drove home.

_That_ was what was missing from Matthew's memoir, he realized with his own tired smile. It was missing their happy ending. As he began to drift off in the car, the soft music from the radio and Alfred's quiet breathing lulling him off to dreamland, he thought to himself, _'Yes...it all had a very happy ending indeed.'_

* * *

><p>AN: And that's it! For those of you who began reading at the very start, we've been together for almost a year and a half now. The first installment of this series was about 15,000 words longer than the longest Harry Potter book, over 375 pages when it was put in one manuscript recently, and this one is not far off that mark. Obviously, I'm incredibly proud to have carried it to completion, but it really would not have been possible without such wonderful support and encouragement along the way. To each and every person who reviewed or messaged me about the story, I sincerely thank you. As I'm sure you've heard by now, a review is the greatest gift you can give an author. We love to know when we get it right, and even when we get it wrong, so we can make it better. You have truly been an AMAZING group of reviewers, and you probably don't realize just how influential you were on the outcome of this story. This not-so-little tale is yours as much as it is mine.

But now it's done! I have a few more ideas already brewing, so please give my next story a chance, whenever the writing bug bites me again. Until then, thanks to everyone for reading!


	34. About the New Version

Hi guys,

I know author notes are frowned upon, but I figured some of you would really want to know about the following news if you enjoyed this story.

Because I'm bat-shit crazy, I'm going to re-write this series. Writing my first "novel-like" fanfics has taught me SO much about the weaknesses in my writing and where I need to improve. I got some amazing feedback and constructive criticism that I really took to heart, and I thank you for taking the time to give it. It was spot on, and I needed to hear it. (It wasn't always easy, lol, but I needed to hear it!)

Here are the big issues I had with both of these stories.

1. Age-appropriate realism. The relationships developed too quickly, and it got intimate too fast.

2. At first I didn't know what I was doing with Russia and China, and by the time I fell in love with them as a couple, their story had become disjointed from the other plots going on. The relationships of the allies will be more equally balanced and intertwined in the revised version, since I know who these characters are supposed to be now, and who I want them to become.

3. Awkward timing. At certain points, the story drags too long and then I rushed through months trying to compensate. Each fic will be _very_ long, but it will be a much smoother ride.

3. Payoff, to borrow RussianRose's term for it. She gave me some great feedback about where my characters were failing to develop. Again, I think have the freedom of all four years will give me more time to let this happen naturally without forcing anything.

4. Typos – anything you pointed out to me in reviews, I'll fix as I upload. Keep in mind, most of this is now new content, though, so there will be all NEW typos to spot! Woohoo!

So, if you'd like to join me chapter by chapter to see it all unfold again, visit my website at www . demand-truth . com. The first three chapters are already posted of the new _Invitational Year_. 1 and 2 are essentially the same, while 3 was completely rewritten. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on old vs. new, so please feel free to leave me feedback on the Review Me page of the site.

When the whole revised first year is finished, I will post it in its entirety on this site by the name _The Invitational Year Version 2.0_. I do this not because I expect you to review it all over again, but simply because I know some of you don't like reading stuff on other sites. (I'm kind of like that, too.)

Once again, thank you so much for helping make the first go round an amazing experience. I hope to grow and learn just as much during round two, and I hope you'll be a part of it again!

~ D.T.


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